#just ​realized i've been here for a year so maybe this post is the 1 year anniversary

[cheeseburger443]

Weekend's doodles ☃️🍳

My deadass brain scrolling pinterest for ref and saw a cute Jell-O vintage print advertisement from the 50s so ..yeah why not:3

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 1: The Story of Job

I'm absolutely not the first one to talk about this on here and I probably shan't be the last either. Alas, here's my take on why all of the minisodes in Season 2 should be enjoyed with great care – and taken with a grain of angelic salt.

I'm gonna split this into 3 parts, aka the three minisodes we are shown, since I tend to get a bit waffley in my posts and want to still be able to include all the little details. Once I've written them, I'll link Part 2 & Part 3 here as well!

Alright, let's get into it under the cut of doom.

Episode 2 opens with the Story of Job. Right off the bat, I noticed that it sort of looks like an old film playing. At first I didn't read that much into it, but once we see the cut-away to Aziraphale at the bookshop, currently reading that part of the Bible (presumably), I immediately thought: "Oh! It's because it's his memory. He's remembering how it went down and therefore it plays like a figurative film in his head."

This, I then came to realize, is a very crucial difference to all the flashbacks of S1, which were exclusively told and narrated by God. May her intensions be as ineffable as they are: She did tell us all of these stories from an objective outsider's point of view. Now, however, it's Aziraphale who's re-telling those stories to us from memory.

And if there's one thing that's for certain, it's that a memory is something entirely different to an objective narration of a story. Just think about how you yourself remember things. Especially things that happened years, maybe even decades (or, in an angel's case, millenia) ago. What is it, that you really remember? Can you know for sure, that a conversation was held with those exact words? Are you 100% certain that the clothes someone wore weren't different? Had it really been snowing or would that make very little sense given what you're remembering happened in May? And did it even happen in May? Or does that just happen to be your favourite month, the current weather, your preferred style of clothing and what it was that you would imagine someone would have said to you?

What I'm trying to say is: The further away it is that something happened, the more your brain has to fill in the gaps. This is why, for example, your parents will remember the family summer holiday entirely different when you ask them about it 20 years later.

"No, it was Sarah who puked on the car ride home!" "Nonsense, Sarah never puked as a child. Bobby had that gone-off pizza, he's the one that was sick the whole ride long!"

We've all been there. Bobby made it out alive. Don't buy gas station pizza.

Alright, back to the plot: Naturally, Aziraphale is not actually human, so it is a pure assumption on my part that the way his memory works is similar to ours. However, the whole topic of "memory" is actually quite a recurring one on Good Omens.

Crowley seems to have lost his in the Fall, yet somehow managed to get most of it back. Not all of it, though, he clearly has some major gaps ("You used to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat!"). Beelzebub helps Gabriel store all his memories in their little fly container before they get wiped entirely too, by the Metatron and/or Saraqael. Crowley and Aziraphale (and possibly Jimbriel) perform a miracle together that makes everyone in Heaven and Hell forget who Garbiel is or what he looks like. And we know that the Book of Life apparently has the ability to completely erase someone from existence – ergo also erasing them from everyone's memory and making it is as though the person had never been in them at all.

So, clearly, angels and demons being able to remember, forget, reconstruct and, if you're the Metadork, wipe memories, is very much canon. Apart from that very last one, it does make them quite human-like in a way. We too can forget or (wrongfully and incompletely) reconstruct memories, due to things like trauma, illness or simply a lot of time having passed.

So, just like Crowley remembers going into battle but doesn't remember Furfur being there, or just like Jimbriel has entierly forgotten who he is but still remembers the tune and lyrics to Buddy Holly's song Everyday, and just like archangel Michael was miraculously made to forget Gabriel and yet says "Don't I know you?" when seeing him again – just like that, Aziraphale's memories of the story of Job, the story of wee Morag and the story of the magic show in 1941, might not actually be the whole truth.

So, time to look at where the furniture isn't.

Now, it could very well be that the costume designers of S2 thought: "Fuck it, let's go crazy" – but given that this show has a track record of meticulously making sure to stick to accurate and cohesive character design, doesn't it strike you as odd that Crowley would go from this look at the Flood in Mesopotamia, 3004 BC:

... to the (very iconic, don't get me wrong) Bildad the Shuhuite drip in 2500 BC:

... back to this at the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in 33 AD:

I mean ... I mean– come on, that seems like a bit of a far stretch, even for someone as enthusiastically experimental with fashion as Crowley.

And it's not just that: Where did the sunglasses come from, all of a sudden? And why do they look like some sort of obscure, ancient optometrist's device? It's a known historical fact that the Romans were the ones to have invented sunglasses, somewhere around 50-ish AD. Which actually matches perfectly with when Crowley and Aziraphale meet again in Rome 8 years after the crucifixion (51 AD).

So, where do the weird spectacles come from, over 2000 years too early? Maybe from Aziraphale's brain filling in some gaps? Hasn't Crowley always worn those ridiculous sunglasses? Was it Rome? Or Golgotha? Wessex? Oh, blimey, what does it matter!

And it's not just Crowley: Aziraphale's own clothes, as well as the other angels', seem to be very different from the rather plain linen we see him wear before and after the story of Job.

They're laced with golden embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. The remind almost of the clothes angels are depicted wearing in biblical and historical drawings. Ornate and decadent. Not at all like we see Aziraphale in the other flashbacks of S1.

Even Bildad the Shuhite's hair within the minisode keeps changing, going from all pouffy and voluminous to rather deflated and straight-looking:

The costume department either had to fix up two seperate wigs or manually straighten out the volume of the one again to give it a more sleek look. I'm not a professional in this field, but if there's anything I've learned from watching hours of behind-the-scenes material of movies and shows, it's that very little about costume, character, prop and set design is purely coincidental.

You know what it could be, though? An accurate representation of how memories aren't linear, historically correct and objective representations of a certain event, but rather an ever-changing, jumbled mess of impressions, emotions and exaggerations.

More specifically: Aziraphale's impression, emotions and exaggerations.

Like "remembering" Crowley with sunglasses because he's been wearing them for so long.

Like "remembering" himself wearing more luxurious, angelic clothes because that's how he thinks of the difference between Heaven and Hell.

Like "remembering" the permit as a ridiculously long scroll that folded out over an entire valley.

Like "remembering" Job's children to be weirdly sassy in an almost Aziraphale-esque way (Enon: "Don't be silly!") for the fact that Job would have probably taught them to be more humble and obedient in the presence of a literal angel.

Like "remembering" eating an entire fucking Ox after having just one bite of it while Crowley watched him lustfully, sipping on his wine.

Like "remembering" Crowley calling him 'angel', despite them having barely known each other back then.

There's a reason why the flashbacks in S2 seem so much more alive, quirky and, at many points, confusing and all over the place. Because they're not objective stories being told by a third party. They're Aziraphale's. So much of his own thoughts and feelings at the time get projected onto them because that's simply how memory works!

It's subjective. It's unrealiable.

It's not that I'm calling Aziraphale a liar. He's no more a liar than your parents are, mixing up Sarah and Bobby. Or you, remembering snow instead of sunshine. Memories aren't lies. They can simply be faulty, focus on things that you thought were more important and leaving out or changing things that weren't, to you.

The real challenge in all of this, is trying to filter through Aziraphale's stories to see what it actually is they're telling us. Where it is that the furniture isn't. And I think in this case, that's 6 main things (eff you, God, I know you like sevens, but I don't care):

God and Satan (still) talk to each other We see that Aziraphale is quite surprised when Muriel mentions that the whole Job thing is God's bet with Satan. But clearly, despite having made him and the rest fall, God still converses with Her number one traitor about whether or not the humans simply love Her because she gives them nice things or because they truly believe in Her.

God and Satan (and Heaven and Hell) can and do collaborate with each other when they feel like it So much for choosing sides, huh? Truthfully, this is not the first time this is shown to us, but still. It's another piece of evidence on the growing pile.

Aziraphale understands the World and humans way better than any of the other angels "Well, you see ... Citis is 58 ..."

Aziraphale, despite having troubles voicing it, absolutely disagrees and even condemns God's plan of destroying Job's children (and goats and camels and––)

Aziraphale is willing to lie and thwart the will of God Also not the first time we're being shown this but again, piiiile of evidence.

Angels don't automatically Fall simply by doing the above To me, this is one of the most important take aways. It's already hinted in S1 as well that 'Falling' seems to have been a one time even back when the first war broke out in Heaven. And I actually believe that ever since then, no other angels have Fallen again. Aziraphale is the best example for this. He has gone against God's plan numerous times and even lied to her very face (voice?) about it. And yet, nothing ever happened to him. Why exactly that is the case remains a topic for another meta (that I might or might not be working on already, teehee).

Alright, that concludes this first look at the Job minisode! If there's anything I missed, feel free to share it with me. I'll try and add Part 2 (the story of wee Morag) and Part 3 (the magic show of 1941) soon.

Update: Part 2 and Part 3 have officially been written, you can find it them right here:

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

Part 3: The Story of the Magic Show in 1941

Hugs and kisses, (God)!

[vitaminseetarot]

Pick a Card: Your Next Upcoming Transformation 🌕🦋

Hey y'all, welcome back for another pac reading for our last supermoon of the year. This full moon is in Taurus, so we are encouraged to step back and focus on resting and self care in between these tumultuous and difficult energies we are currently running through. Every late autumn season invites us to explore how we have transformed over the year and how we are still evolving. This Scorpio season in particular has been very emboldened and expressive as I've seen its presence in everything from neighborhood construction to politics. And while I will avoid making this post too charged, I will use this post as a reminder that I support all marginalized communities who are feeling confused and vulnerable at this time. I hope you find this blog to be a safe space.

Butterfly imagery has been surrounding me, and I was even gifted some butterfly magnets this season. Butterflies represent the soul and its deep transformative abilities. As we release the old, we may be able to spread our wings to be magnets for better times ahead. So I've created six piles to show where and how this process is shifting you to your next chapter.

1. Pink Butterfly - Little Princess 2. Red Butterfly - Inferno 3. Yellow Butterfly - Spirited Yellow 4. Green Butterfly - Willow Hedge 5. Blue Butterfly - Sea of Tranquility 6. Purple Butterfly - Joie de vivre

Pile 1: Pink Butterfly - Little Princess

6 of Pentacles, Queen of Cups; Appreciation, Marquise, Wolf, Grandmother Moonstone "Forgive, not because they deserve it, but because you deserve peace."

Good evening, pile 1. Your next chapter involves balancing your needs with the needs of others. Perhaps for a while, you have been on one end of an extreme when it came to exchanging. You may feel as though you give too much without receiving the equivalent in return, and this realization means that your generous energy is wearing down on you. It could also be the other way around, where you could feel guilty when others give you things because you're not sure how you will be able to return the favor. It may feel easier to lean on oneself than to grapple with paying back such a gift, as you wouldn't want the other person to feel tired too. I'm feeling many hang ups on both ends when it comes to generosity, and this energy may be arising due to the holiday season getting closer. With the Marquise card showing the Libra symbol above the 6 of Pentacles, balance is the emphasis here. Balance is not always an exact 50/50 at the time of exchange. Cycles will come where you may rely on the help of others more, followed by phases where those same people will come to need and appreciate your help. This is balance in a higher order sense, in terms of your lifetime and not just one season.

It could have been that, in childhood, you were given strange attitudes and beliefs on giving and receiving. I'm getting a weird reaction from seeing "Little Princess". Some part of you may want to embody the princess archetype, who lives in abundance and receives adoration. But maybe there were people who used it with a more negative connotation, like saying "bratty princess" or "spoiled rotten princess". This could have been from family, friends, or even ideas picked up from TV. It could have been that others act like they're spoiling you or really going out of their way when they give you or help you with something. It's such a sticky back and forth, and in time it becomes harder to receive or be grateful from such a source of negativity. And now you've been getting this intuitive nudge that healthier beliefs need to be created.

This season is about observing these negative beliefs and reclaiming your feelings of gratitude and generosity, in a sense. Gratitude isn't about settling for bad standards; if you get a bad gift or a good gift out of somebody "spoiling" you, it's not a reflection of who you are but of where they're at in their own journey. If they don't seem grateful for what you do, that's also a part of their own process. Some people won't be able to reciprocate, just as there are times where others will give more than you can give back. You can embody a healthy princess archetype by allowing yourself to receive without guilt, and letting yourself give without exhausting yourself. People above all like to know they're being appreciated, even if the gift isn't perfect, which means you're off the pressure from finding that perfect thing too. It's ultimately the thought that counts, so whatever you give or get, release the burden and enjoy the gift swapping. If you feel others don't appreciate what you do, please understand it's part of their own life to deal with and please give yourself that gift of self-appreciation.

Pile 2: Red Butterfly - Inferno

XXIII Prism, XI Justice; Future, Tear, Lion, Anandalite and Lemon Balm "Try. Make mistakes! Try again. Perfection does not exist."

Good evening, pile 2. You're transforming into a time of life that's filled to the brim with creative passion. There is an overflow of fiery hot emotion in this group, see how the volcano plumes from the lion's head. You may be getting a lot of ideas at this time for what to make next, some of you could be working on a project now but I'm also getting that many haven't started yet and only will when the grand idea comes through. There are two ways I'm interpreting these projects. They could be artistic or writing projects, but it could also refer to the creation process of forming and completing new goals. This group could benefit greatly from making vision boards, especially for what you want to see or do for next year. Interesting enough, this tarot deck has two additional cards and you got one of them, the Prism, which I interpret to mean "everything". This card sits below the Tear card with the Gemini symbol, so you may also benefit from using a notepad to write ideas down as you get them on the fly. I'm hearing that the ideas that make you feel the most will be the most potent when made physical, you are being asked to work closely with your emotions as a creative compass.

Your cards are bright and hot, but must be tempered with cool confidence. You are stepping into a fresh role where you can imagine your visions easily coming to life. I don't have the Moonology deck in this reading but I'm reminded of the Leo card where it says "confidence is your key to success" because it's such a strong affirmation. Your task is to be your own cheerleader to keep the energy and momentum brimming alive. Cause that's the thing about fire: it will eventually burn out if it's not attended to. Cool casual confidence is a firewood coated in fat, it's what starts the fire and keeps it going long. Not every idea will be the great one, but it's important to put down anything that comes to mind. There will always be time, with the Justice card, for sorting and deciding what works and what doesn't later on. You know how you don't edit a story chapter by chapter, but only after the full draft is complete? This goes for anything you work on, even for future plans.

It doesn't seem like it now, but you are moving into a time where you will have the spark and the passion to move your vision forward. Making excited plans about what you will do or make next will put you in a better mindset for starting them. If you're looking at these cards thinking "passion? motivation? I've never felt so depleted, how could this be true?" then perhaps you're now in a space where sitting with your heavier feelings with grace and integrating them needs to be prioritized beforehand. Part of this transformation process into living in a more impassioned state requires small steps. Intuitive freewriting in a journal may help to break up darker feelings into something more manageable, or you may find another healthy creative outlet for dealing with difficult times currently. But if you've been convincing yourself that you can't create because you're in a bad mood, you may in the process of shifting around your perspective so that creating becomes a means to work through the bad mood. Beautiful, incredible things could come from embracing artistic skills from every facet and angle.

Pile 3: Yellow Butterfly - Spirited Yellow

10 of Wands, VII Chariot Rx; Self Love, Brilliant, Unicorn, Golden Topaz and Yellow Rose "Better to regret the things you've done than to regret the things you didn't do."

Good evening, pile 3. Goodness, do I want to give this group a big pat on the back for all you do! Whatever you've been working at over the months, you have been pushing hard! So much so that the end result doesn't even feel all that great anymore; you're just happy for it to be finished so you can take a break. This pile may have a lot of tired students who will be finishing out their semester in the next few weeks and you're excited for the brief moment of rest. You are very bright and intelligent as well as hard working and I feel your transformation involves acknowledging your talents and strengths. Maybe things didn't end the way you hoped for them to, like getting an A- instead of an A+, but you can still congratulate yourself for the effort you put in anyway, because to do so would congratulate you for who you are. And I get that this pile has had to deal with some major disappointments, but sometimes things just don't work out the way we intend them to. Sometimes the teacher just puts down a random grade because they're tired, maybe there isn't a good reason why. It's not worth belittling your own abilities.

Unicorns indicate something spectacular and magical. To see one before you is to see what cannot be easily believed. Next to the abundance card is a sign of great things to come. The Earth symbol in the Brilliant card reminds me of the Wheel of Fortune. At this time, things may feel "cursed" or futile, but a big spin of the wheel is due to come during your next evolution which may propel you to a different octave of luck. And it may not even be luck but rather the positive karma from the work you've done now. Trust that your good intentions and efforts will be reflected back to you when the stars align, but now is a time to pat yourself on the back and give yourself the recognition you need. The Morbid Mirror says "better to regret" but I wouldn't even say that. You don't need to spend any more time regretting the wrong choice on the quiz or that you answered a question awkwardly in a job interview. What's done is done and you don't need to beat yourself up for what didn't work out.

Forgive yourself for not meeting every goal perfectly, and forgive yourself if your energy to keep pushing is waning. This may be a time where you need to focus more on cheering yourself up and resting than trying to figure out what went wrong or how to make it right. Remind yourself of all the times where things have worked out before and affirm your own brilliance. Don't let the silence of today make you think that you don't deserve good things for what you give. Have faith your efforts will be met with great reward down the road. For now, your catalyst to transform involves making peace with yourself and creating opportunities to be happy. Enjoy the little things that raise your spirits up, and take pride in what you've accomplished so far no matter what.

Pile 4: Green Butterfly - Willow Hedge

6 of Swords, I Magician; Self Esteem, Sunflower, Swallow, Ethiopian Opal "The most damning lie you can tell is the lie you tell yourself."

Good evening, pile 4. Your next phase in life involving moving on from a rough chapter in your past. There could have been an event that scarred your sense of trust or elicited deep insecurities, like an audition but not getting the desired part, or a friend group wasn't what you thought it was. You'll be walking away from something that was toxic, whether it be a situation, group, person, or even from something within you like a limiting mindset that has tried corrode your self esteem. The Willow tree is traditionally a tree representing sorrow and loss, so at this time you may feel despondent and unsure of how things will change. But a hedge represents a boundary line between the known and unknown. Please remind yourself that things are meant to change, that from this difficult time a more prosperous time can later come, even if it's not clear now. The Swallow is a sign of hope and optimism showing you that you are meant to shift away into a better time. Do not let yourself get stuck in believing that the way things are is the way things will always be, as that will close doors faster than the wind. The only door you're meant to close is to the past that left you feeling hurt and torn. Soon, upon leaving the chrysalis, you will be able to open the doors to greater change.

The Magician makes full use of the here and now, using whatever they have at their disposal to see their goals through. Just because you don't see fresh flowers blooming doesn't mean the earth isn't ripe for new possibilities. Many plants can be seeded in the autumn that will blossom and grow fresh food in the spring and summer. There is more you can do with what you have now than you think. With the emphasis of wings in this pile, I'm getting that you're at the peak of something. You've risen up and overcome something difficult for which you don't give yourself enough credit. Only a vast horizon filled with potential lies before you, which you can do with however you please. You're not meant to forever stay frozen at the peak, reflecting on the toxicity you left behind, but to glide back down and start anew.

The Sunflower always faces the direction of the sun. So should you turn your attention to what in life makes you feel most good about being alive and being you. This is how you can move on, by making space for what you wish to grow. The Opal card speaks of children and birthing something into being, so however low you feel about yourself now, remember that we are all flying in our own altitudes and that there's always room to expand on yourself as a person. If you feel beat up because you didn't make it onto a sports team, place energy on creating the next opportunity to play at the game. Talk to yourself truthfully and fairly as if your child self is hearing everything because your inner child is the part of you who will help guide you through your transformation. Harness your courage to take the next step forward as in your next chapter you will be in perfect alignment to achieve whatever you wish.

Pile 5: Blue Butterfly - Sea of Tranquility

XV Devil, IX Hermit; Learning, Mazarin Rx, Hawk, Pixie Helpers and Green Aventurine "Just being born, makes you worthy of being here. Let yourself just be."

Good evening, pile 5. Your next transformation is a smooth and steady pace of growth. You're entering into a phase of life where you can exist and embrace the fullness of your life for how it is now, at its best. It's strange to put it like this, but with the Mazarin card in reverse it's almost as though your growth path doesn't actually involving growing in the traditional sense. So during this season you may experience a sense of regression or going backwards, and this is to brush up on old sticky lessons that need to be cleared out. I feel this lesson has to do with the fixation on self-improvement. This pile may be the type to put a lot of time into ameliorating your life and relationships. You could even be thinking about your New Year's resolution when we haven't even yet entered December at the time of this reading, just because you wanna get ahead on your to-do list planned out for next year. However, I'm seeing that your transformation will involve some pulling back and withdrawing your energies to highlight overlooked aspects.

We live in a culture of constant doing, and it makes sense that this feeling ramps up during the end of the year. There could be real engagements that require attention due to real deadlines, but sometimes our brains make up deadlines just for feeling like it makes sense to do so. The Hawk is vigilant, always keeping a sharp eye on every task and detail. For some things, you may have a lot more time than you believe you do in working something out. It's okay to occasionally sleep on something and come back to it. The Hawk also speaks about self-sabotage. Could you be putting unneeded frustration on yourself when maintaining a flexible outlook might help you reach your goals sooner? It's like if you're trying to write a song but you're not sure how to finish it: it make take less time to just put it aside and come back to it instead of straining at the same verse for hours on end.

If, during this regression, you feel lost at what to do, perhaps taking time to meditate or center your mind may be the best course of action, instead of spinning wheels to figure out the next thing. Life is not a neverending to-do list where we're meant to go from one thing to the next right away. Your transformation forward requires compassion for not being where you want to be in the present, but finding space to breathe anyway. Be more discerning with how you use your time and remember that free time isn't wasted time. It's okay if you feel stuck in a certain position, but it'll be easier to rise from that when you let yourself be and avoiding pushing too hard. Within that tranquil state, great ideas and solutions can come. We don't always need to chase for the next great problem to tackle to feel like we're making proper use of the present. There is purpose in the peace and silence of doing nothing. You will transform into somebody who understands the value of resting your thinking mind when it's needed.

Pile 6: Purple Butterfly - Joie de vivre

XIV Temperance, King of Cups; Retreat, Heart, Tiger, Laboradorite and Blue Lotus Flower "Everything is energy and energy never dies; it just transforms."

Good evening, pile 6. This pile is for the intuitive people out there! There is a lot of psychic energy in this group. Your transformation is on an almost imperceptible level, too subtle for those who are not as spiritually inclined. This could involve some kind of moment of awakening or enlightenment, but it may not necessarily be a dramatic one. You are stepping into a more mature and balanced disposition, not the kind of awakening where we suddenly get clued into to the basics of souls and spirit guides, but one that involves a shift on how you view the world as a whole. Joie de vivre means "joy of living" in French, and it refers to having a cheerful and optimistic outlook on life. You may have been working on the heavier aspects of spirituality, like doing shadow work, getting used to the idea that it's how all spirituality functions. But I'm getting a brighter view of seeing things here, realizing that nothing stays the same so that the good can come along with the bad. You'll be shifting into a spirituality that satisfies you with a sense of hope, love, joy, and community.

The Tiger represents opulence, so you may receive an abundance of psychic energy and information during your shift. This could come as automatic intuitive knowing (clairsentience), or through vivid meaningful dreams that provide deeper revelations about people and self. The Temperance card shows that this revelation is not one of fireworks but of a more intrinsic lasting sense of contentment. These are downloads meant to help you see that while spirituality isn't all sunshine and rainbows, it's also not all doom and gloom either. You may be retreating from doing the big bold kind of karmic work over this transformation period, which is okay as there is always a time for doing and not doing, and I really feel with your maturity that you've already done a lot. Now it's time to pull back from the shadow work so to find balance in between the lessons.

The secret to this transformation is non-attachment. Let the events and moments in your day come as they may. You will soon get the sense in your spirit that there is a constant inner joy that doesn't respond to external circumstances even if they're intrusive or annoying. With the unconditional compassion of Pisces, you find that bad situations that come up do not tend to last long when your heart is directing itself towards what you feel love and gratitude for, you won't be able to as easily dwell on the worst parts of the day over the best. And with less dwelling on negative parts of the past means less need to heal those parts. If something falls away, another thing will come to fill the gap. Your regenerative abilities are potent for this next phase of your life. I'm talking like this unshakeable faith in the best outcomes while feeling fine with things even when the outcome is far from ideal. This transformation is a form of wisdom that heals and will continue to heal as you gracefully move forward. Some may mention that you have an aura glow around you, which is your transformation at work.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[illyrianslut]

In His Arms - Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Isla went to Velaris with Rhys after UTM, but quite frequently has nightmares about what was done to her. Azriel is always there to aide when he can.

Warnings: (These will be chapter by chapter) nightmares, mention of past abuse

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: (I totally changed this from an OG character to Y/N) This is part 1/?. This is my first ACOTAR fanfic! I've been writing fanfic for 13 years (fuck im old), so I'm super excited to finally be posting in the ACOTAR fandom<3 Ao3 Link

Masterlist | Ao3

 “Please don’t make me do this.” I beg, glancing between Amarantha and Rhysand. The fear forming in my stomach like a brick. “I’ll do anything else, please My Queen, I beg of you.” Amarantha’s grin only grows wider at my plea. Rhysand’s face is stone cold, hatred burns through me as I realize what’s about to happen.

“Search her, now.” Amarantha hisses at Rhysand. For the briefest of seconds pity seems to cross his face, but it’s gone in a second when I feel him begin digging through my thoughts.

​Memories of the fae I’d been sneaking out fill my mind, their faces and names being run through so quickly I can barely process it myself. Pretend this hurts. A thought that feels my own, but somehow belonging to someone else fills my mind. But I trust the thought, and bring myself to my knees letting out a pained scream.

Part of my acting feels real, the invasion of my privacy and the fear of what Amarantha will do to me once she finds out evokes a very real reaction from me. She is going to kill me.

“Well Rhysand?” She beckons, a bored almost annoyed tone surrounding her question. “Have I found my traitor?” The itch in my mind ceases, and something tells me now it is time to end my performance.

Rhysand watches me for a moment, almost like he is deciding something. But then he shakes his head “No.”

Amarantha’s head snaps from me to him. “What do you mean no?” She hisses “I’ve been informed that she” Another sharp glance in my direction “has been helping other slaves to escape.” I hate that word.

“You’ve been informed wrong, she has no knowledge on the escaped slaves.” Rhysand tells her calmly, his neutral expression still on me. “You should bring the liars in at once to be questioned.” Rhysand sounds bored, almost annoyed that he’d even been brought here. I stand up slowly, looking between Rhysand and Amarantha trying to figure out what was going on. Is he lying for me? Why would he do that?

A hum from Amarantha, I glance up at her on her dais realizing that I may get out of this situation alive. Maybe not unharmed, but at least alive. Thanks to Rhysand, Amarantha’s whore. His gaze snapped to me, a look of annoyance. I just saved your life, do you think it’s wise to be using those words right now? Rhysand’s voice floods my mind and I have to hold back the fear shooting through me, that he had heard me.

“I suppose you’re right. Twenty lashings for the girl so she knows to keep her mouth shut about the escapees. And make sure they leave a mark so everyone knows.” Amarantha sounds proud of herself at the idea.

“No!” I shriek, whipping my head to the Attor who is stalking towrds me, an evil grin spread across his disgusting face. “Please, don’t do this My Queen! I will keep quiet, please!” I beg just as the Attor grabs my arm to hold my in place for my punishment.

My shirt is ripped off by the Attor, and a leather whip appears in his hand. “I’ve been waiting to see you break.” He whispers in my ear.

I shoot up in bed, a scream escaping my lips at the memory of my first real interaction with Rhysand. I can still feel the burn of the twenty strikes inflicted on my back. “It’s over.” I remind myself, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

A hurried knock comes from my door, Azriel surely as we are the only two currently residing in the townhouse. “Sorry Az, I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me.” I call, scolding myself for waking him.

“May I come in?” He asks, sounding distressed from the other side of the door.

“Yeah come on in.” My chest is still heaving slightly from the adrenaline, but I know he wont rest until he knows I’m really okay.

He opens the door and I take in his disheveled hair, worried expression and then much to my personal satisfaction, his shirtless body. He may be one of my best friends, but I would be blind to not notice how beautiful this man is. “Hi.” He says gently, looking me over as if assessing for physical injuries.

“Hi.” I smile up at him as he walks closer to my bed.

“May I sit?” He gestures to my bed, and I scoot over leaving a space for him to sit beside me. “Did you have a bad dream?”

I give him a nod and sigh, getting ready to spill my guts. “It was when I first met Rhys.” My voice shakes, despite how hard I’m trying to pull myself together. I think of the twenty raised marks staining my back and feel the tears well in my eyes. “Sorry, I know it’s dumb to cry over it still.” I insist, wiping at the tears just as they begin to spill out.

His expression shifts at my admission. Rhys and I had made a promise to each other when we got out that we wouldn’t talk about what we went through with the others. But there were times when it felt impossible to not talk about those things. “I know you wont tell me, but I am here for you. If you ever need to talk about what you went through. I know Rhysand made you promi-”

“No.” I stop him, it wasn’t Rhys’s idea to promise anything. It had been mine, but he seemed a lot better at keeping his secrets in than I ever had been. “Rhys didn’t make me. It was my idea, Az. It’s just, sometimes I want to word vomit everything I did and went through. But I know it wouldn’t fix anything.” It was the truth, it’s the only thing holding me to that promise with Rhys.

Of course he had shared a lot, probably everything if I’m honest, with Feyre. But that’s different, she’s his mate. Maybe one day if I ever find my mate I would feel different, but cauldron knows how rare a mating bond is.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” Azriel frowns, “I just meant-” He shakes his head, but when he looks back his eyes land on a scar wrapped around my shoulder. I freeze, and feel a twinge of panic in my stomach, but I focus on his shadow that rises slowly to the scar and caresses it gently. I can’t help but think of the first time he saw my scars, and how angry he had been.

~

The Summer Court had been just as beautiful as Feyre had described, maybe even more so. But I still can’t help the excitement of seeing Azriel for the first time in two weeks. He is by far my closest friend, much to Mor’s annoyance, and two weeks without him was hard.

Knowing that he wont be home at this hour, I decide to bathe and get the sweat from being in perpetual summer off my body. My room is just as I left it, and I can’t help but smile at the lights turning on as I walk in. Home.

I tear my shirt off, tossing it to the ground and heading for the attached bathing room. I’m attempting to pull my pants off when my door swing open, and a stunned Azriel is on the other side. In my shock I don’t know which part of my body to sheild from him, so I threw one arm over my boobs, and turn away from him.

The second I do it I hear the audible gasp from Azriel, and my body goes cold. “Get out!” I yell, tears filling my eyes, knowing Azriel has now seen the worst part of me.

“Who did this to you?” His voice sends a chill down my spine, but I still can’t bring myself to move in my frozen state.

“Azriel. Get. Out!” I hiss, feeling my body begin to shake. I’m going to be sick. I run to the bathing room, in an attempt to get away from his line of sight. Why isn’t he leaving?

“Y/N. Who did that.” I’ve never heard his tone like this, filled with such venom. His shadows enter the bathing room, and my shirt is dropped next to me. Before I can throw it on, the shadows begin roaming over my back as if exploring the raised skin.

The Attor’s wicked grin fogs my memory, and I can hear my pulse in my ears. The whipping sound fills my ears, the smell of the leather surrounds me. Rhys. And my back, I can feel the scars burning like it’s happening all over again.

Arms wrap around me, making me I feel like I’m floating. I look up to see Azriel looking down at me, fear flooding his eyes. “Y/N, talk to me. Can you hear me?” His voice sounds far away, like it’s being covered by the sound of the cracking whip, but I nod anyway.

I can feel the shaking, my whole body is shaking but I can’t stop it. “Y/N what can I do? I’m so sorry.” I’m set down onto something soft, but I instantly miss the warmth his body had been providing. My body feels void of warmth right now, ice cold. It doesn’t help the shaking.

Everything is going to change now.

“I need R-Rhys.” I hear a broken voice say. Was that me?

Hurt flashes through his eyes for the quickest of seconds but the next thing I remember is Rhys and Feyre being there. Azriel is gone. “Y/N. You need to breathe.” I hear a familiar voice instruct. I look around, attempting to figure out who, but they’re both just looking at me expectantly. “Can you hear me?” Is the voice above me?

I look up and realize I am wrapped tightly around Azriel’s waist. I nod, I can hear him. “Breathe. You aren’t breathing.” I pity the sadness haunting his beautiful face, am I causing that?

“What happened exactly?” I hear Feyre’s voice, but she sounds so far away. I turn to look where she had been and she’s still there. Why is everyone so far away?

“I-I didn’t meant to. I didn’t know she was home. I came in and she was-” Azriel pauses when I turn my attention to him. No. He can’t tell her. Nobody can know. “Changing.” He finishes.

“Oh.” Rhys tone changes. I glance at him, pleading silently that he wont make me, make us, relive that moment again. I begin shaking my head quickly, hoping he will understand my plea. “I understand, Az I think I can handle this.”

Azriel’s body stiffens in my arms “I’m not leaving her.” Suddenly the harsh tone from earlier is back, and I feel an arm tighten around my shoulders. Az? I turn my head to look at the hand and see his scarred hand rubbing gently. “Don’t you dare ask me to leave her while she’s like this.” Rhys looks to Feyre, clearly having a silent conversation.

I only focus on Az’s hand, willing the comfort of it to bring me back to the present fully.

“Azriel, will you come with me? I think this may be one of the times Rhys and Y/N need just each other.” Feyre looks at Azriel, pity written all over her face.

Just as Azriel is about to say no, Rhys looks to him with the face of the High Lord of the Night Court. “Azriel. You’ve done enough here, now go.” Just like that, the hand that had been bringing me comfort is gone, and I am being unwrapped from him. Then I watch him walk out of the room with Feyre, looking back at me like I’m broken.

I curl into a ball on the bed, soaking in the warmth from where he had been. I didn't want him to leave. I wanted him here. Buy why? “Was it your back he saw?” Rhys asks, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

~

Two years had passed and we had never spoken of what happened that day again. He still doesn’t know who caused those scars. I’m sure he has made his assumptions, but we both knew I wasn’t ready for that conversation. Assuming I ever would be.

“I just meant that you can talk to me if you ever want to, is all” He finishes his sentence, glancing back at the visible scar.

I reach to the end of the bed and grab the throw blanket there, wrapping it around my back to hide the scars that show with this damn top. The shadow that had been settling over the scar drifted back to him, hovering at his ear for a moment before dropping away.

“Are they giving up all my secrets?” I try to laugh, but truth be told there’s a part of me that is worried they’ll somehow know just from touching it who caused those marks.

“They enjoy you too much to tell me your secrets.” I can feel the truth behind his words, his soft smile is reassuring. “As much as I want to know Y/N you have to know I would never invade your privacy like that.” He almost sounds as though he is begging me to agree with him.

“I know you wouldn’t.” I admit, “I wasn’t so sure about these ones.” I giggle when the shadows reach out, and hover around my hair- their preferred location to situate on me.

I can feel the oncoming panic attack begin to subside in his presence. “Was it a dream of what happened,” He pauses for a moment “Under the Mountain?”

I chance looking him in the eye, his gaze is already fixed on my face and I can’t help but blush at the intensity. “Yes.” I admit, looking away.

“Will you tell me about it?” I know he doesn’t mean to pressure me, that it’s not his intention. But the idea of actually telling someone about what I went through down there? It sends a shiver down my spine.

“I want to, Az. I just can’t.” I finally say after a few heartbeats of silence.

“Will you ever?” The question catches me off guard, he sounded so desperate, almost like he was pleading with me to trust him with the most private part of my life.

“I don’t know, I’ve just always told myself that I wouldn’t talk about it with anyone. I mean maybe if I ever mated someone, but it’s a lot, Az. If I told you, you would never see me the same.” I feel bad avoiding the no I want to say, but I also don’t know if I would mean it. There might come a day that I trust myself enough to open up, but I can’t chance him hating me. Not yet.

“Y/N, mated couples are rare, and you know it. What’s your plan keep it to yourself for the rest of your life?” I play with a tendril of shadow that’s hovering around my fingers. When I look up to meet his gaze again I almost break. I know he wants to help me with what I went through, but I’m just not ready.

“I’m not ready Az, but if I ever am I promise it’ll be you I come to.” The corner of his mouth rises slightly.

“That’s all I can ask for, I suppose. Are you going back to bed?” The question catches me off guard, but I shake my head.

“I can’t ever fall back asleep after I’ve had a nightmare. I’ll probably be up for the day.” I shrug at the inconvenience of it. It’s become a semi regular occurrence, usually a couple times a month.

“It’s hardly past midnight, are you sure? Why don’t you lay down? I’ll stay in here with you.” I cock my head at his suggestion, but it may not be the worst idea. “I’ll sit over there, I lost a bet with Nesta the other day anyway. I have to read one of her books.” He chuckles, nodding his head to the chair in the corner of my room.

“No Az, uh” I only give the thought a moment before it’s out of my lips. “just lay in bed with me. You being here probably will help, but there is no sense in chancing both of us not sleeping tonight.” What did I just say? My eyes widen at the offer I’d just extended. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with that I guess.” I rub the back of my neck.

He gives me my favorite Azriel smile, his goofy grin that meets his eyes. “Deal. Lay down.” He nods behind me.

I take the blanket off my shoulders, avoiding his gaze as I do so, and lay down facing him. “Your turn, Spymaster.” I tease, knowing he hates when I call him that. But he obliges, laying down draping his wings behind him.

Without either of us saying a word, the lamp that had turned on when he entered the room goes out. The moonlight filtering through the window gives me a clear view of him.

I can’t see them, but I feel his shadows hovering over the scarred shoulder that shown with my tank top. “You do know I will ruin whoever did that to you, don’t you?” He whispers, his fingers reach out and gently brush over the scarred skin.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

[weebsinstash]

I'm sorry but I'm going insane for your idea of Lilith and Luci getting a sinner pregnant together can we please have more of your thoughts on this idea 🙏

Absolutely because I'm a dirty little heathen and Season 2 isn't just about to magically pop up out of the ground and I've had SOME THOUGHTS and also this post is way longer than it should be 💀

I was sitting and I was thinking of the concept of the Hotel having communal breakfasts or having at least one day of the week where there's food served and everyone (typically) eats together, not only as a bonding/unity sort of thing but also simular to how real hotels can have complimentary breakfast as part of your stay, and like, yeesh this is actually an entirely separate fic idea in of itself but you're talking with Alastor and you're saying something along the lines of "oh yeah, well, I was actually starting to think a lot about motherhood before I died, but, raising children is so complicated, not to mention society right now is so genuinely hostile and dangerous to children, and i wouldn't have been able to afford it anyways, and, well, you know, NOW i literally can't have them down here"

AND FROM THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE END OF THE TABLE

COMPLETELY UNPROMPTED

HERE'S LILITH, "Oh! It wouldn't be impossible at all! You and Lucifer could still have a baby :)"

RECORD SCRATCH SOUND EFFECT AS EVERYONE LOOKS TO THE QUEEN OF HELL. She seems completely unbothered while her husband is A TOMATO, he can barely even look in your direction, he's just tugging on her sleeve, "L-Lili, cmon, don't say things like that 😳🥴" and awkwardly laughing, maybe even asking to speak to his wife in private (I feel like its a regular occurrence for these two to dip out of a room and reappear and Lilith is reapplying her lipstick as she re-enters followed by a kiss covered Lucifer lmao)

Can you even imagine going to Charlie, "hey um, this is awkward, your mom keeps like. Jesus please don't kill me I'm not a homewrecker but your mom keeps making comments about me having a baby with your dad and she sounds completely serious about it and shes been bringing it up for like two weeks" and you could not be saying this in a more obvious "hey girl this is weird and I don't like it, can you chat with your parents for me to stop this" kind of way BUT, the actual way Charlie is responding ALSO THROWS YOU OFF. I can see it already, Charlie all but LIGHTS UP WITH EXCITEMENT and she, takes a breath, "oh!! I mean!! You don't have to do anything you don't want to obviously, bbBUT UH THAT BEING SAID oh gosh that sounds like it would make you really happy, aaaaand and I know you wanted a family of your own and, hey isn't this place about new beginnings and" GIRL WE AREN'T HAVING A BABY WITH YOUR DAD TF?

You know how I made that post "hey Lucifer kind of appears to have these vague Master Of All type powers down in Hell, what if he could manipulate your dreams and made you dream about being a kid because he's wanting to heal your inner child/adopt you". I also started thinking recently about Lucifer AND OR Lilith using these powers to make you dream about 1) being with them in general and more specifically 2) motherhood and i started mentally deep diving for that shit. Like. It could genuinely actually get so fucked up actually. Could you imagine you're just, VULNERABLE with the Queen of Hell and you're drunk and you're crying and you're just, SPILLING EVERYTHING, she's getting your entire life's story, and she's petting your hair as youre way too drunk to realize youre telling her way too much, amd she's just thinking "oh you poor thing, human society sounds absolutely dreadful now" and like. Think of it from a hypothetical fantasy psychology perspective. It's not like Lilith has never been part of modern society, she's been a member of Hell forever and has only been out of contact for 7 years, BUT she also exists from a time predating all of that AND she built Hell with Lucifer, so like, imagine she actually starts forming some um Strong Opinions on how, it sounds like all these complicated modern things are really dragging you down, both as a person and as a free spirit, and comes to a consensus that your life needs to be a little... simpler

I'm serious, I'm talking "Lilith makes you dream about being In The Actual Goddamn Garden Of Eden Itself with her and Lucifer and you're ALL naked". Just completely controlling your dream. You're naked as the day you were born and so are they and you can't control your dream at ALL. Lilith is wanting to like, watch you peacefully frolic around, I'm talking she wants to see you having your Hot Nymph Summer where you're napping in beds of flowers and you're having birds land on your finger and you're gasping at all the pretty flowers and wanting to explore and, experiencing the beauty of being alive without all these messy modern nuances and it's like NO MAAM I DONT WANT TO PICK BERRIES FROM THAT BUSH, YOU CAN SEE M Y BUSH AND I CAN SEE YOURS AND YOUR HUSBANDS---

Alastor is over here thinking he's hot shit, "oh I do so wish we could return to simpler times without all these modern trivial problems!!" MEANWHILE LILITH IS LIKE. ACTUALLY GOING THAT EXTRA MILE. Alastor is like "boo cellphones are bad and women dont dress modestly enough, people these days spend too mych time with technology and not with family" meanwhile in "the garden" a completely naked Lilith is braiding your hair and weaving flowers into it while an also completely naked Lucifer is feeding you berries by hand as they discuss the idea of having a nice fun swim in the lake passed the glade, like you guys really are frolicking and fucking around like a bunch of fairies and it's. It's peaceful and fun but also you miss your cellphone and having underwear 😩 like miss queen of hell can I PLEASE get some boob support--

Moving on, I was thinking of the Fake Garden in of itself, as its own idea, but like in this poly baby raising context, it would be essentially Phase 1 of the plan to normalize their presences to you and make you more comfortable around them and then skipping into Phase 10 of "oh hey by the way you're gonna have a dream about um sleeping with the King and Queen of Hell and it's Totally Not Real and you're Totally Definitely Not Actually Like For Real For Real Legitimately Pregnant Now ;)" like. First off before I get any farther in this post can we just like acknowledge the like HEINOUSNESS of you not knowing everything is "real dreams" and LiliLuci using this to their full advantage to ask and find out anything about you because basically to them, they think you're just being boggled down and negatively influences by modern human society and you're like an onion they have to peel some layers off of first to expose those juicy inner tender bits

Just. Ok. Like. High level fantasy horror concept ok, here we go I'm gonna cook here:

It eventually does move on to you having dreams about living in an actual home with Lucifer and Lilith, sleeping with them in you know, All Those Ways, basically in what you think is some weird imaginary throuple that while you do find yourself enjoying it like actually, you can't wake up from it, and these dreams can feel WAY too long sometimes. You're dreaming of some, "am I a man dreaming I am a butterfly or am I a butterfly dreaming i am a man" shit where you hit the pillow in Hell and Dream You is waking up, seeing your husband and wife get ready for work and you're basically a pampered stay at home spouse. I honestly can't decide what dynamic would be cuter: both of them having jobs, you and Lilith having jobs while Lucifer is the house husband, only Lilith having a job while you and Lucifer do dumb shit at home, or Lucifer being big daddy and bringing home all the money while you and Lilith lounge by the pool and she takes you to the spa and pampers you all day and is sending texts and photos of how cute you are to her husband while he's working

You're probably thinking "wait but weeb this is actually kind of cute, where is the horror" and for starters it just kind of, mentally wears your energy down over time to 'never shut your brain off' and have true rest, like Lilith and Lucifer intentionally 'trade' you being alert in reality to you being more conscious in the dream world, so, you're not as present when you're around ACTUAL people as you are when you're in their little, fucked up pocket dimension.

Then you've got. The baby. You're pregnant ONLY in the dream. You have THE ACTUAL PAINFUL EXPERIENCE of giving birth, BUT THEN you're waking up and you can't hold your child, show them to your friends, have the, SANITY AND COMFORT OF KNOWING YOU ACTUALLY HAVE ONE. You're waking up DEVASTATED. Where's your baby? 🥺 oh right.... They're not... actually real... like it fucks you up psychologically

I just picture, if I were to put it in an order of events. You go from 1. Lilith and Lucifer are just your casual acquaintances, Charlie's parents that you know through her 2. They start getting closer to you as you stay longer at the Hotel 3. Ok we get along and have fun moments and even sing songs and we have fun times with your daughter ^^ 4. Ok you're getting maybe a little comfortable, am I tripping or are you a little too comfortable 5. You're Bush Out in Fake Eden 6. You accidentally slip up and get more cozy with them in reality because Ok Maybe The Stupid Garden Bullshit IS Fun And Maybe A Little Soul Healing 🙄 7. You're getting banged in the Garden 8. Being in reality is awkward now, suddenly you're avoiding them less, so you're dreaming about them more, having them push themselves closer to you in response to you trying to pull away, like even if you're spending entire days outside of the Hotel you can't escape needing to sleep eventually 9. Suddenly you're like, not in Eden, you're in a hospital getting an ultrasound w Lili Luci holding your hands as a doctor tells the three of you you're pregnant and oh no you're actually really happy and excited about it 🥺 10. crushing crushing reality. You're single and not pregnant and you're beating yourself up for these fucked up dreams you're blaming yourself for having, as if they're some self conscious desire and you're kinkshaming yourself for having them 11. Dream You is having your baby, everyone is so happy like it's actually so perfect, even when you're stressed as a first time parent you have so much love and support to keep you strong 12. You wake up and it's nothing but DEPRESSION DEPRESSION DEPRESSION where is my baby and my wife and my husband who love me and I love them DEPRESSION DEPRESSION DEPRESSION 13. Lilith and Lucifer HAVE TO to spill that Hey Our Baby Is Real because you're like going near insane with "grief" like youre like actually wanting to try and end your life or constantly self harming because Where Is MY CHILD 14. You're so fucked up at this point you don't care to ask questions when they hand your Very Much Real Baby to you looking exactly how you remember them from your dreams. You're just happy your baby is real and now you can be with them all of the time and you don't even care that um This Was Such A Fucking Ethically Dubious Conception.

Do you think the other Hotel residents would have a sliding scale of being ok with this. Like you just SHOW UP WITH THIS LITTLE BLONDE BABY IN YOUR ARMS and Lilith and Lucifer are all but glued to you and they're all fucking confused because WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??? you barely even spend time with these two, or so they thought??? When were you PREGNANT??? HOW??? I feel like realistically if they aren't all, you know, as Equally Crazy For You, that they would find this extremely manipulative and fucked up MEANWHILE CHARLIE DOESNT CARE and may have been in on it.

Also "something something what if Reader being able to get pregnant also turned out to be like God Himself being like 'hey lucifer lilith here's the deal I'm throwing you a bone right now, ok, this is for you, to keep things chill between us mk' and there are added layers of Oh Shit You Were Created To Be With Them" as if your ass wouldn't have an impossible enough time escaping as is 😭💀

But like... the concept of Reader falling so deep into "grief" that it gets so bad that you're basically not eating or sleeping, Lucirer and Lilith were always gonna tell you but they're forced to do it abruptly because you just breakdown and can't stop crying. Or it's even Charlie disobeying her parents and running up to you with your baby who stops crying the moment they're in your arms

I also just... as a final note..... just as a cute palette cleanser there's one specific idea I keep thinking of... you have your new baby and you're showing it to all your Hotel buddies and you give it to Alastor to hold because your baby was giggling and gurgling at him and you're just, death grip on his shoulder, "alastor please hold my child :) they're excited go meet you, say hi" and while you're like, vaguely threatening him to interact with this baby which he has Extremely Valid Reasons To Find Abhorrent, his deer ears move or twitch, and your baby is just looking up at him with their big eyes, watching those ears twitch, and, poof! Your baby has their first Lucifer/Lilith related shape-shifting incident and suddenly your baby has twitching little red ears and they're looking up at Alastor with these big cute eyes and here you are, "alastor :) aren't you going to praise my baby :) they just had their very first shift and it's for you :) tell them what a good job they did :) you're not trying to make my baby uncomfortable are you :)" and. Ok Maybe this does win Alastor over a bit being the narcissist that he is BUT THE TRUE REWARD is Lucifer scrambling into the room after you call out in excitement, dropping to his knees and all but wailing, "NO, WHY IS MY BABY HAVING THEIR FIRST SHIFT FOR Y O U AND I MISSED IT" and you just have Alastor being an ABSOLUTE SHIT, suddenly oh so cozy with your baby, "well talent recognizes talent! This little one clearly has potential! Why, look at how clearly they ALREADY ADORE THEIR DEAR UNCLE ALASTOR >:)" and from then on you can't leave these two men alone with your baby or they'll be having nonstop contests to "win them over" and prove who the best role model/caretaker is

Ok. Lastly. Lastly lastly lastly. THIS BABY SPECIFICALLY IS RUINING MY LIFE. Look at those STUPID CHUBBY cheeks and those big eyes and how attentive and focused she is like oh my godddddddd if LiliLuci handed one of those to me "this is yours" i would just die like 🥺🥺🥺 man, I'll have to tell you guys later about my idea for "Reader wants to see if Rosie will let them adopt a Hellborn baby and Alastor helps vouch for you and lowkey becomes your husband/the child's second parent" or "Reader finds an abandoned imp baby and all the shenanigans/protective possessive feelings from your yandere/s that follow once you begin your motherhood journey "

[multifandom--mess]

Hannigram Fic Recs! pt.2

Here it is, the big fat fic recs post I've been putting off for like two months but at least that means I had time to read a shit ton of fics. I made sure to do a mix of short and long fics this time around since the first part were all long ones. Enjoy!

part 1

》 The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352 (Explicit)(104k)

Will has always been drawn to the macabre. The proverbial flame upon which he has burnt his fragile moth’s wings time and time again, it’s why he had fallen in love with Florence and why he alone seems to see the beauty in the grisly but exquisite work of Il Mostro. But when he meets a young man in the Uffizi Gallery whose sketchbook is filled with nothing but page upon page of intricate renditions of the Primavera drawn in reverent strokes of pencil, he realizes he may not be alone in his fascination with the Monster. As they lift veils and scale forts and slowly begin to understand each other, Will gets a taste of exactly how bright the cinders of intrigue can burn—and how quickly they can kindle into an inferno of obsession.

(Young hannigram in Florence ahhh this is seriously one of the best fics i've ever read it had to be at the top of the list)

》 Spectral Hearts by mattHughdancy (Explicit) (16k)

Will has a meltdown at a crime scene. Guess who’s called in to help.

(Another top fave of mine they are so fucking cute in this fic 🤧 features autistic Will, and Hannibal just loves him so much oh my goddd my heart exploded reading this)

》 lay like a flood spills away by bleakmidwinter (Explicit)(35k)

Will Graham meets Hannibal, a frequent cruiser, at an open-minded nudist lake. Despite his reservations, Will is drawn to him, but is eventually forced to question his mysterious nature when the lakeside regulars start to go missing.

(I loved this one bc what better setting than a nudist lake. This is just gay as hell honestly lmao bc the lake is all dudes and Will is "straight" at the beginning until he meets Hannibal and it's all downhill from there. Definitely give this one a read it had some hilarious moments too)

》 Doing Things That Friends Don't Do by HigherMagic (Explicit) (39k)

A year after the fall, Will and Hannibal have settled into a fairly blissful, domestic harmony. But Will's imagination has never let him simply enjoy what he has - why should it start now?

(Basically Will trying everything in his power NOT to have sex with Hannibal but of course we all know he can't keep it together. They are so horny for each other in this i died laughing so many times. Also this author is such an amazing writer expect multiple recs from them in this post)

》 Railroad Romance by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (12k)(Explicit)

Hannibal is still Hannibal, and Will is still Will. Except Will is not part of the FBI and they meet on a two day train trip from New Orleans to Baltimore.

(A strangers to lovers meet-cute on a train. Lots of fluffy moments and of course train sex ensues)

》 Three Stars by beforethedawn (94k)(Explicit)

Three months after the fall, Jack finally tracks them down in Canada and Will and Hannibal have to make a run for it, slumming it through America in three star hotels and eating sub par food.

(Hannigram roadtrip!! This fic was so fun I loved it. They take on the identities of some familiar Mads and Hugh characters ;)

》 Unexpected Delight by HigherMagic (Explicit) (61k)

Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of. Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink. They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL. This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.

(This whole thing is literally ALL smut 😭😭 but Han and Will love each other to death and the sex is so good y'all omg I had to stop reading multiple times to catch my breath)

》 The Substitute by Devereauxs_Disease (Explicit) (10k)

When Hannibal tells Will he's sick, Will is skeptical. Before he knows it, he's laying in a hospital bed and being told he's going nowhere for two weeks. Will is distraught until Hannibal swoops in and offers to take over Will's courses at the FBI Academy. Will doesn't mind Hannibal showing up every night with a home-cooked meal, but he might just resent Hannibal becoming the most popular teacher at the Academy in just two weeks...

(A seaon 1 au if Hannibal wasn't an asshole had told Will about the encephalitis. This is hilarious tho because the students don't like Will no more when he comes back and they keep asking about Hannibal 😭😭 poor Will lmaoo)

》 When This Old Tired Body Wants to Sing by KareliaSweet (Explicit) (7k)

“Fuck me quicker, darling,” he purrs with liquid insincerity, “God forbid you see my face.” Will never touches him unless it is in the dark. In the daylight he is a ghost.

(Will being an asshole and only fucking Hannibal in the dark ugh 🙄 but things work out eventually so don't worry!)

》 Maybe Tomorrow by Shotgun_sinner (Explicit) (26k)

After recovering from their tumble off a cliff, Will agrees to get Hannibal to Portugal, where the good doctor can start a new life for himself. In exchange, Will can take the boat and return to his life, or start over himself. A storm hits on the open water, leaving them stranded somewhere in the Azores. With no one else on the small island, they're forced to work together for survival, and work through their violent past in order to get along.

(A survival au! I LOVED this and author is another fave of mine. I go crazy for a good stranded on a deserted island trope and this did not disappoint. Also there is an insanely funny part where I absolutely DIED. You'll know when you read it 💀💀)

》 I've Always Been A Daughter by air_of_the_Waterfall (44k)(Explicit)

It's been a month since Will and Abigail ran away with Hannibal. Living in a safe Canadian town, Will and Hannibal are free to explore their newfound intimacy and Abigail has a chance at the future she craves. However, upon meeting Hannibal’s sister Mischa and her daughter, loyalties are tested and insecurities run rampant. The Lecters have an undeniably dark past, and as Abigail and Will fall deeper into its truths, Hannibal’s manipulation and misguided love come to light more clearly than ever before.

(This fic is truly a hidden gem I am so glad I found it. Murder family post-mizumono and also MISCHA LIVES. The plot is so well written and I love Mischa's characterization. Definitely give this one a read, yall it is SO GOOD it deserves so much love)

》 Home is Not a Place by Shotgun_Sinner (11k)(Explicit)

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

(This one is so sweet. Basically Hannibal wants to jerk off but he can't because Will is just always there and he hardly gets a moment alone and he'll feel bad for telling him to go away 😭😭 but they finally get together in the end

》 Held in the Highest Regard by HigherMagic (12k)(Explicit)

What happens when a group of serial killers pick the absolute worst targets? Will is already having a pretty rough night, since Hannibal proposed to him and Will said 'No' for reasons he still hasn't quite figured out yet. It's not their fault - they couldn't have known - but sometimes people have to learn lessons the hard way, and Will could definitely use some stress relief.

(If you are familiar with the movie 'The Strangers' then you'll really like this one. I reread it like three times it was so good. Shit had me tweaking omg this is like the perfect au for them)

》 Green-Eyed Monster by CestPasDuBaudelaire (53k)(Explicit)

Will and Hannibal have settled in Cuba and, for the past year, they have been living their happily ever after in a small hidden community for retired wanted criminals. However, at the hazard of a gathering, Will is faced with an unbelievable fact, other members of the community may also fancy his monster of a husband. Then comes Will's spiraling, as he learns to come to terms with a disastrous, chaotic and slowly overwhelming possessiveness. And of course, feelings are never easy to deal with, when Hannibal is involved. A smut character study in three acts exploring Will's possessiveness.

(Top!Will my beloved. Don't let the title fool you, this was so fun to read and I love the community for wanted criminals idea. And possessive Will is always a treat ;)

》 Haunted by Anonymous (165k)(Explicit)

Still recovering from their fight with Dolarhyde, Will and Hannibal escape to New Orleans with Chiyoh's help. But Will is still struggling to accept Hannibal and his own darkness, something that Hannibal has every intention of helping him overcome...

(And finally I leave you guys with this monster of a fic. So sad that the author chose to go anon but if they somehow see this I hope they know how much I love this story. Will is struggling and Hannibal is an asshole at certain points but when is he not? Lots of references to Will's past too and some stuff about his mom that's very interesting)

I hope you guys enjoy these stories as much as I did. If you read any and want to discuss my messages and ask box are always open! ♡♡♡

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

[queen-simia]

now that ep 4 is live to the public, I can finally post what I've been sitting (and spinning) on for like a week, wheeee!

Major Monkey Wrench spoilers abound, so putting below a cut if you haven't yet seen the latest episode. And if you haven't seen it (or the rest of the series), you can do so here:

now ON TO THE INFODUMP

Shrike's status

so, since the beginning, I've been putting all my money on Shrike being an artificial being. Not in the sense of robotics/cyborgs and the like, but in the sense of a one-of-a-kind bioengineered creature. Since he was confirmed as an endling (as opposed to just hinted at in past episodes), I'm choosing to take that as a bit of reinforcement; his species is still marked as "unknown" by LAW, and if no one knows what you are and you're the only one they've ever seen, it's safe to assume they assume you're the last of whatever you are.

now, in a leap on my part, I'm further going to postulate that Shrike is actually an engineered squid. As in an honest-to-god Earth cephalopod, albeit in the same sense you can call a human a monkey. I think that maybe our boy Shrike is the end result of years-long genetic modification and breeding programs to create something closer to human shape and intelligence, but with whatever attributes his human creators wanted from squid...

...maybe attributes like producing ink.

"that's stupid, what makes you think that?" Glad you asked, Strawman! Here's what I'm drawing from:

Scratch's nicknames for Shrike

As much as these can be considered throwaways, Zeurel and Ash have been very good about sneaking in foreshadowing in dialogue. I don't fully think Scratch is calling Shrike "squidhead" just to be antagonistic (though in-universe, he certainly is; I doubt the character himself in canon has that kind of insight); I'm choosing to believe it may be a bit of a Chekhov's gun.

Shrike's design inspiration

In Tumblr ask replies, Zeurel's confirmed Shrike's design is based heavily on Humboldt squid, and he finds cephalopods and deep-sea life in general interesting. It's going into meta rather than narrative precedent, but I think for these reasons, having Shrike actually be an ascended squid wouldn't be that far out of the blue.

Shrike's terran connections

It's been established that Earth no longer exists, and what humans remain are persona non grata in LAW space. They're the reason behind the Cataclysm/the creation of Secondary Green, and what artifacts remain are traded on the black market (as implied by Scratch and Jaw Bone dealing in them, neither of whom are exactly upstanding citizens).

Yet somehow, Shrike speaks primarily in a canonically dead Earth language—Latin Spanish—and thinks highly of terrans/terran culture. He apparently is the only being in LAW space who does both. One could argue he picked up Spanish through exposure to contraband as a LAW officer, but even his translated speech is Spanish-accented. That to me is a clue it's his native language, as opposed to one picked up later in life. Maybe he doesn't speak it all that well, but it's what he learned as he grew up.

I believe that Shrike's interest in terran artifacts isn't so much fannish as it is nostalgic, though he doesn't realize it (yet). Remember, we don't know his true age—he's only estimated to be in his mid- to late 20s. He could very well be several decades or even 800+ years old, and for reasons yet unknown he isn't aware of it. Hell, he knows what VHS tapes are and how to watch them, something present-day kids are unfamiliar with right now. Even if he was treated as only a scientific specimen in his youth, something about Earth/its people may have been warm and familiar enough to endear terran mementos to him. But it's now too far gone in the past for him to remember why exactly he loves them so much.

Shrike got no dick

(originally posted to Twitter before the Shittening)

Canonically, the boy is Ken-doll smooth both front and back. Even though he has a gender (Questionably Masc™), he has no sex. Maybe his species could reproduce asexually, but it's pretty unusual for complex bipedal critters to do that. Plus, there's the fact that no peehole and no butthole also mean no bodily waste excretion, which is pretty much a death sentence for most life forms that run on metabolic processes. Therefore, I'm taking all these as artifacts of Shrike's artificial creation (and not just so it's more difficult to make show-accurate porn of him).

The Primaries, LAW, and Secondary Green

So there are three godlike beings that ostensibly also serve as the basis for government, referred to as the Primaries. Only one has been directly referenced as active in LAW government—Primary Red—but given the colors of the three LAW divisions, one can safely assume there must be a Primary Yellow and Primary Blue (whether they also govern, are off doing something else, or are AWOL is a mystery for now). It also just so happens that interstellar travel takes place in subspace pathways in the same colors as the Primaries (with varying speed depending on color), and spacecraft is fueled by "ink" in those corresponding primary colors.

It's also revealed in a news chyron in ep 4 that an intergalactic-capable drive had been in development (and had been stalled by bureaucracy) for at least 20 years, and is now ready to deploy. It's referred to as a Trinity drive, and required Primary Red's approval before it could officially launch. I think it's pretty safe to assume it's a form of propulsion that combines all 3 colors, however the in-universe physics work in that case. At the moment, it's been shown that using the wrong type of ink in a color drive will cause an explosion and a tear in space at best (at worst, we don't know yet), so whatever science went into developing a drive that combines colors must have been fairly dangerous (or potentially threatens to weaken whatever power the Primaries hold over LAW citizens).

Secondary Green

Background details are vital lore sources in Monkey Wrench. If you paid close attention near the beginning of ep 1 (and can easily read backwards text), you already know what's in the box the boys pick up in ep 2: something called "Secondary Green." It was evidently once in Chester's possession, but by the time Kara caught up to him, he'd already sent it on its way to LAW.

The second and third episodes refer to the Cataclysm being caused by terrans. The third episode explains the green corruption's effect on life forms, and LAW subsequently quarantining it to prevent its spread. It also shows Secondary Green corrupting the bit of Them that gets too close into the horrific black-green monster that overtakes the Bucket. The fourth ep has Jaw Bone directly refer to the terrans' "false idol" in reference to the Cataclysm.

While I was typing later paragraphs, I hit upon a possibility I hadn't even considered for what Secondary Green could be. So now, I've got 2 potential reads:

1. Secondary Green was the humans' attempt at recreating the Primaries' power for themselves. Whether this was to undermine LAW or to try to join the galactic stage at the Primaries' level has yet to be seen, but either way, it ended up biting humanity in the ass. Secondary Green and/or a byproduct of it/its creation ended up destroying Earth and a good chunk of its neighboring Milky Way space, and landed whatever humans remain squarely on LAW's shit list.

Now, those of you who remember me from pre-2018 Tumblr also know I'm pretty heavily into Mass Effect. That universe's version of the Milky Way also was governed by an alien-run coalition: the Citadel, which tightly controlled the means to interstellar travel (although the Citadel species did not create these means, they just found and activated them first). Thus, the similarities to the idea of a three-pronged alien government holding the keys to interstellar travel and commerce and forcing you to play nice if you want in have been resonating in the back of my mind whenever I watch Monkey Wrench.

The similarities end in that MW's answer to the Protheans are still very much alive and active, and are directly overseeing galactic travel, commerce, and government. There aren't established mass relays, but every ship contains its own "relay" in the form of ink drives. These can open portals into respective colors of subspace to get from one side of the galaxy to another faster than conventional propulsion (so far, red is the fastest, and blue seems to be the median speed everyday schmoes like our boys can access). And, most importantly, the means of this travel are less an external technological development and more appear to be tied to the nature of the Primaries themselves; these beings are not just obeyed, but worshiped (see Scratch's oaths in ep 3 and the red officer greeting Shrike and Armstrong exchange in ep 4).

However, there are still two very important similarities between these two settings that I think should be kept in mind:

i. Trouble started when humans started sticking their fingers into the galactic government's pie. In Mass Effect, it was shoehorning Shepard into the Spectre program and wriggling humanity's way into the Citadel Council. In Monkey Wrench, it was messing with fundamental forces it didn't yet understand and (maybe) creating human-made Great Value primaries, which resulted in at least one: Secondary Green.

ii. Control over interstellar travel—specifically, access to subspace—is a cornerstone of power. In Mass Effect, you need a specific form of reactor in order to engage the mass relays and "cheat" your way to FTL travel. These relays are heavily guarded and regulated by the Citadel; humanity famously learned this when it activated Relay 314 near Pluto and got a knock-knock from the police in the form of a turian armada. In Monkey Wrench, you need to equip specific color drives and fuel up at ink stations, which presumably are subject to LAW regulation and pricing.

In both settings, Earth appears to have taken a look at the galaxy already being run by someone else and immediately thought, "but how do I get around this?"

Engineering Secondary Green was MW Earth's answer to this question. Unfortunately, it backfired and drove humanity to (functional) extinction and criminal status.

2. Secondary Green is an unintended fusion of Primaries Yellow and Blue. This would explain their current-day absence (provided they don't directly appear in later episodes), and the subsequent fall of LAW enforcement into disorder that Armstrong alludes to in ep 4. Humanity was up to something that attracted the Primaries' attention—perhaps tapping into pocket dimensions, like the one embedded in Shrike's head?—and maybe things went awry. One way or another, Primaries Yellow and Blue's intervention ended in them fusing into a new anti-entity, Secondary Green. Instead of fostering life, their combined and imbalanced power corrupted it.

Left to their own devices (and likely hawkish methods, given Red oversees enforcement), Primary Red sealed off Earth's part of the galaxy and declared humanity LAW's enemy. The quarantine for justifiable safety/life preservation reasons, the outlawing likely to create the narrative that humanity was entirely to blame and not at all any fault of Primary interference (and maybe some vengeance for losing their comrades).

Or maybe, Red is covering their tracks.

LAW and Order

So the League of Aligned Worlds (LAW—yes, it's an acronym) is the current empire ruling civilized space in the Milky Way galaxy, under direct command of the Primaries (or at least Primary Red). There are three established branches: enforcement/military (red, which Shrike was once and has since defected from), science (yellow, which Dr. Agness impersonated), and commerce (blue, as represented by Killix and Sixty-Two, who appear to be led by an as-yet unseen Commander Tezzoree).

Being a centralized civilization, LAW has certain cultural and legal standards it expects its citizens to observe. Commerce and community are enabled by way of implanted universal translators á là Star Trek, but with one specific caveat: swearing is not allowed. It's so not allowed that it's physically punishable through painful translator auditory feedback—interestingly, people in earshot get punished this way as well just for hearing it.

Maybe it's a form of socialization, in that LAW hopes you're nice enough not to want to hurt your fellow citizens by swearing? Or that your fellow citizens, having had pain inflicted on them, will browbeat you into compliance? Either way, it's a window into current LAW space being severely authoritarian in both the moral and legal senses.

This extreme authoritarian approach doesn't prevent corruption, however. Corporate lobbyists exist, as demonstrated by Chester in ep 1, and LAW officials patronizing vice industries like sex work (see the end of ep 3) is not unusual. And current LAW is disorganized to the point of each division being largely ignorant of what's going on in the others: Neither Killix nor Sixty-Two were aware Shrike is a defector, nor do they bat an eye at him admitting as such. Armstrong is able to impersonate a red officer with either stolen or purchased equipment, and even he's astonished that LAW keeps such loose tabs on itself that they still have Shrike registered as an active officer. Dr. Agness is able to get away with impersonating a LAW scientist, and the LAW representatives who collect her don't appear especially ruffled by it.

It's possible that this rigid adherence to authority and subsequent breakdown in the ability to enforce it is due to Primary Red being the only Primary left. The harder you clench your fist, the more sand slips through your fingers, and all that. However it happened, Red is at the moment the only one at the wheel, and they don't seem to be able to keep it together on their own.

aight, so where's this leave us

so for now, I think these are where we may be headed:

a: Shrike was genetically engineered to be in the running as a peer to/defense against the Primaries, but aligned with Earth. He has a means to access a pocket dimension/subspace, could possibly be a source of ink (either as secretion or in the form of his blood), is an exceptional marksman, and possesses anthropomorphic form and (allegedly) intellect. The problem is, he turned out anti-authoritarian, impulsive, and kinda stupid. He was disposed of at some point and now wanders space as the only one of his kind.

b: The same program that produced Shrike also created Secondary Green. Unfortunately, something happened—whether through accident or external manipulation—that turned it into a rampaging force of destruction. We have yet to see whether humans really did just monumentally fuck up, or if LAW is rewriting history.

c: LAW is on its way to collapse through Primary Red's mismanagement. Whether said mismanagement is through the other Primaries going missing on their own, or through a power grab on Red's part is the main mystery.

hooray done for now oh god

[scoonsalicious]

5.4 Major*

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, explicit sexual content (hand stuff, fingering) Minors GTFO: I don't serve your kind here.

Word Count: 900

Previously On...: Lily knows Bucky's been lying to her, and she's surmised he's on a date. That's got to end.

A/N: Posting a little early today to make up for yesterday being so late!

I've decided to postpone my break by a few days, so I will give you Chapter 6 in its entirety before I take my mini-hiatus. It's only three parts long, so I will start my break on Thursday, 5/16 and resume posting on Thursday, 5/23. It's a better place in the story to leave you, a little bit more dramatic than at the end of this chapter, like I had originally planned, lol. It felt off leaving you all here.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You flopped your body down onto your bedsheets with a giggle. “Full marks, Sergeant,” you gasped between panting breaths. “Once again.” It was all the two of you could do to get back to your apartment without ripping each other’s clothes off.

Bucky laughed and came to lay down alongside you, propping his head up on his vibranium arm. Leaning over, he bent down to kiss you. “I couldn’t have done it without you, doll” he said with a grin, but then his face grew serious. “Seriously. It’s never been like this with other girls.”

You blushed and playfully pushed at his rock hard shoulder. “Come on, Bucky,” you said with a laugh. “You’ve already got me naked and exactly where you want me; you don’t need to sweet talk me.”

Bucky placed a hand on your sweat-slicked hip, gently turning you to your side so you were facing him. “I’m not,” he told you, searching your eyes with the utmost sincerity in his expression. He pushed back a strand of damp hair away from your face. “I’ve been with… well, a fair number of girls over the years.” At the raise of your eyebrow, he held his flesh hand up defensively. “What? I’m 105 years old, doll. I’ve been around the block.” You couldn’t hold back your laugh at that, and he kissed your nose before continuing: 

“Like I said, a fair number of girls. And none of them, not a single one, ever made me feel the way I have when I’m with you.” He cupped your cheek in his hand and you felt your cheeks flame in a blush. “Come on, sugar. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. That this,” he took his hand off your cheek to motion between your two bodies, “isn’t something special.”

“It’s been a little over a day, Bucky,” you chastised him gently with a smile, afraid to admit that you, too, felt this was something unique. “Maybe thirty hours?” Thirty hours in which the two of you had somehow managed to have sex eight times, not that you were counting. You couldn’t believe how quickly he was able to get it up again after he came, but he’d assured you that was his favorite side effect of the serum that had made him a super soldier. It had quickly become your favorite, too.

Bucky’s face fell, and you realized that he wasn’t going to judge you if you told him the truth, because he felt it just the same. “The best thirty hours of my life,” you clarified, tucking your fingers under his chin so you could bring his gaze back up to yours. “And yes, I feel it, too. It’s never been like this before. Not with anyone else.”

“Not even with your ex-husband?” Bucky asked with a playful smirk.

“Especially not with Conner,” you told him with a roll of your eyes. “Took me years to teach that man where my clit was, and even on his best days, he still needed a map.”

“Oh, you mean this, right here?” Bucky deftly slid his hand between your thighs, finding your hub of nerves almost instinctively and began to lightly trace it with his finger, sending an electric tingle through your body. 

“Fuck, yes,” you exhaled, reaching up to grab Bucky’s shoulder for support as he increased the pressure. He moved his metal arm from under his head and slid it behind your shoulders as he pulled you flush with his chest.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured into your hair as he moved his fingers faster against you, occasionally dipping them down to your entrance to collect some of your slick for lubrication. You hitched a leg up over his hip to allow him better access to your core. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” you moaned, feeling yourself building to the crescendo. Taking your hand off his shoulder, you grabbed his wrist, guiding his movements so you could grind your desperate cunt against his hand.

“Do you want my fingers, sugar?” Bucky panted. You looked up at him to find his gaze locked on where his hand had vanished between your thighs, his pupils completely blown from lust. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers until you squirt all over me?”

You couldn’t even get out a coherent word, just a pathetic whine that turned into a near scream when Bucky plunged three of his digits into you. The air was full of the frantic sounds of your combined breathing, along with the rapid squelch of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt with a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible. It felt like he was hitting every part of you, even parts you didn’t know existed until now. Every time with Bucky felt that way.

“How you doing, sugar?” Bucky asked as he continued to drive his fingers home. “You okay?”

You nodded and grunted in the affirmative, loving how he always checked in on you. You were so much more than okay. You were transcendent. 

Soon, you felt that intense, unfamiliar build up that only he had been able to pull out of you once before, on the living room floor. The pleasure was so intense, you couldn’t see straight and you were exploding all over again, clinging to Bucky for dear life as you screamed his name. 

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[redladydeath]

Gonna pull a Proto Vox post and put all my "Vox's kids die as children and reunite with him in Hell" stuff here so the reblog chain doesn't get too long. All the prompts included are from @storm-ismyusername.

Okay, so, the "Vox's kids die as children AU." I came up with the image of Vox keeping his kids in a fish tank first, but upon further reflection, I've realized that it doesn't really line up with the timeline I've established.

Vox's children were 7 and 10 when he died (1957)

Vox worked under an overlord for 3 years after his death until he broke free, started his own business, and met Alastor (1960)

He and Alastor were friends for 6 years until they fell out (1966)

Vox gained official overlord status 2 years later (1968). By the time Vox had the resources for the fish tank plan, his kids would've been 18 and 21.

The only window of time where Thomas and Sarah can die and still be children is 1957-1961, so it would have to happen when Vox was still in the employ of his overlord. I actually think the idea of struggling single dad Vox is really charming, so let's go with that.

With that background, I'm not sure if Vox would feel the need to do the fish tank thing since they went a decade without anything going wrong. Maybe it exists, but Sarah and Thomas aren't confined to it 24/7. Everyone already knows they exist, so they're allowed to move around the tower as they please (they are absolutely not allowed to go outside, though).

Ondine & Fineas where they die as kids: How does child Sarah and Thomas react to: 1-Dying 2-Going to Hell 3-Reuniting with your dead Dad (who now has a TV for a head) Would any of their Sinner features be different? Is it weird I can see Vox being more fatherly to Sarah and Thomas than he was in his human life? So when Sarah & Thomas die as kids does Vox find them before or after his big fight with Alastor? If before, what would Alastor make of the situation?  How long does Sarah and Thomas fend for themselves in Hell? A few days, a few weeks, a month, a year?  Did someone find the first? Did Vox only learn his kids were in Hell when someone was using them as blackmail against him? Did Sarah and Thomas watch as their father brutally murder their kidnapper in front of them?  Maybe another Overlord (like Carmilla, Zestial, or Rosie) found them and gave them to Vox because they felt threatening children was beneath them and drew the line at hurting kids. Wait what if Alastor found them first? What would he do with them if he did?

Okay, so Sarah and Thomas die somewhere between 1958 and 1959. They still drowned, maintaining their aquatic theming, but I'm not sure how exactly– could've been from their mother driving under the influence and crashing the car through a bridge's guardrails, could've been just regular drowning at the beach or something. Their mother survives, so they land in Hell alone (I have no idea what an 8~9 and 11~12-year-old could've done to get sent to Hell, but let's just move on).

Not sure how Vox finds them. In the main AU, they found him by recognizing his voice in an advertisement and seeking him out, but at this point, Vox is just some random nobody. Let's just assume he got extremely lucky and happened to come across them 1-30 days after they first arrived, but before anyone else thought to scoop them up. Vox is horrified that they're dead and in Hell and privately swears to permakill his wife for letting this happen if he ever sees her again. He brings them back to his shitty little apartment and starts trying to figure out how the fuck he's supposed to take care of children in Hell.

Despite the circumstances, Vox is actually a better father in Hell than he was on Earth. He has nothing to his name other than a shitty errand boy job, a tiny apartment, and his two small children who he thought he'd never see again. While the stress of having to provide for them is a beast, losing everything sort of forced him to get his priorities in order regarding them. They become far more tight-knit than when they were alive as Vox is forced to spend more time with them and get creative when it comes to meeting their needs.

It's all quite the adjustment for Thomas and Sarah. Dying and trying to survive on the streets was as traumatizing as you'd expect. Reuniting with your dead dad and having to adjust to living in poverty is also a lot to take in. Every day, they're stuck in a one-room apartment with gunshots constantly going off outside and explicit instructions from their father to be as quiet as possible and not open the door for anyone– very different from the upper-middle-class suburbanite lifestyle they were used to. Eventually, their dad will come home with cheap food, they'll spend some time together, and then all curl up in their shared bed and try to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. It's not a comfortable life, but it's definitely more intimate than how things used to be. Thomas starts letting go of some of his resentment of Vox since he can tell he's actually trying now, and Sarah's view of him as A Good Dad, Actually solidifies.

Eventually, Vox secretly kills his overlord, starts his first business, and is taken under Alastor's wing. Things become more comfortable for the three of them, with Alastor being something akin to a weird but fun uncle to the kids. Things are looking up for the family as Vox starts to build power and wealth. It's horrifying for the kids when Vox comes home one night without a head and swears vengeance on Alastor, but that incident only adds to Vox's upward momentum. After ten years of struggling in Hell, Thomas and Sarah (or rather, Fineas and Ondine) find themselves back in the lap of luxury as their father claims his title as the Overlord of Television.

—

Lowkey enamored with the idea of struggling single dad Vox. Have some miscellaneous ideas:

Vox doesn't have a functional mouth yet, so the kids are the only ones who have to eat. He tries to figure out if he can use his electricity to cook/heat up food.

He's at work all day, so Thomas and Sarah are stuck alone in the apartment with very little to do. Thomas teaches Sarah to read up to a 5th-grade level. They might have a radio to keep them entertained. Whenever Alastor's doing his "screams of dying overlords" broadcasts, they're supposed to shut it off.

Vox has to rediscover some long-forgotten sewing knowledge since the kids need clothes that aren't falling apart.

When he's around, he'll play things on his screen for them as a form of entertainment. It's sort of like making up a story on the spot since Hell doesn't have any television broadcasts for him to tap into yet.

It's always a treat when they're able to go out as a family, usually for dinner. Vox feels bad that he can't provide them with anything nicer than fast food, but the kids are just thrilled to be out of the apartment, eating something "good," and spending time with him.

Due to cabin fever, the kids are much more rambunctious than they were when they were alive.

Vox is trying to decide whether he should let them acclimatize to Hell or continue treating them like human children.

Once Alastor enters their life, Sarah adores him (that is, after she gets over his initial creepiness).

Sometimes the kids will ask Vox why he pours all his time and money into building a television from scratch (and why it has to take up so much of their precious floor space). He tells them florid stories about how, once it's finished, it'll make them the richest sinners in Hell. Thomas helps him with it sometimes.

The kids' chosen sinner names change every other day.

Vox has a whole system worked out to make sure the kids have the building's communal bathroom all to themselves in the mornings (i.e., just play lookout and hypnotize anyone who tries to enter into walking away).

Tom and Sarah have devised some sort of cockroach/bug-killing game during their days stuck in the apartment.

Vox struggles to come to terms with the fact that his kids are never going to grow up. They're going to be 11 and 8 forever, the same way he'll eternally be just a week away from his 38th birthday. 

He's pissed at God/Lucifer/whoever for letting this happen. What could children possibly have done to deserve Hell?

Exterminations are difficult. Vox used to be able to just hide in the electrical grid and wait it out, but now he's got two small children who can't dematerialize like he can.

Sarah has nightmares about losing her dad again, for good this time. The trauma of losing a parent isn't undone by getting said parent back.

Both kids actually feel like they know their father now. He's no longer this distant figure in their lives who only emerges to give them expensive gifts, show them off at parties, tell Tommy he's not doing [whatever] right, and get in screaming matches with their mom. Vox isn't a great dad, but at least he's trying now, and that goes a long way in Thomas and Sarah's eyes.

—

Made Vox's apartment in the Sims

—

Nice touch that the toys are made of paper, something Sarah & Thomas probably made themselves (with a little help from Vox) since I can't imagine there's a huge (children's) toy industry in Hell. A bat on the wall in case of break ins. Various stains. AC. The TV Vox is working on. The bed looks bigger than I imagined, but I guess Sims did have too many options. A bucket of toiletries in the corner to take with them on their trips to the communal restroom. A box full of (all of their) clothes. Two pairs of shoes (presumably Sarah & Thomas'). Oh it looks like Vox managed to find a stuffed rabbit plus for Sarah! Where did he find that? Did he make it himself? An ironing board (makes sense). A small closet with a mirror. A calendar. And a power box (considering Vox's abilities it makes sense to have one near)!

They either got the bunny from a store catering to Hellborn children or made it themselves (Vox is rapidly relearning how to sew, and Sarah has a bit of sewing knowledge from her home ec classes). Vox's income usually goes towards only two things– keeping the three of them alive and building the TV– but occasionally, the shame of barely being able to provide his kids with anything gets the better of him and he'll "splurge" on small gifts. Sarah was delighted with it; she'll take any comfort she can get in this place.

Regarding the bed, yeah, the Sims only has double, single, and toddler beds. It would need to be a decent size in order to fit all of them though. Sarah and Tom are child-sized, but Vox is seven feet tall and has a CRT for a head. If he didn't already have one, he would've needed to get his hands on a bigger bed unless he wanted to sleep on the floor.

It's funny, the Sims only has two options for calendars: a dog one that's a bit too cutesy to really fit the vibes of this place, and a "Sims in uniform" one. Before the kids showed up, Vox's calendar having a bunch of succubi in sexy costumes wasn't an issue, but now that they are here, that thing's going in the trash... until Vox realizes how hard it is to find non-risque calendars in Hell.

—

I can totally see Sarah (& maybe Thomas) calling Alastor “Uncle Alastor”. Would they call Rosie “Auntie Rosie”?

Vox has them call him "Mister Alastor." Regardless of how emotionally invested Vox is in their relationship, he's very afraid of coming across as overly attached and scaring Al off. Having his kids refer to Alastor as family feels wrong, so having them keep things respectful, yet formal seems like the better option. Rosie would definitely tell them to call her "Auntie" if she ever met them, though.

I wonder what nice things Alastor would do for the kids? Do you think they sometimes appear on Alastor’s radio show? Oh now I’m picturing Alastor and Sarah singing “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile”! Soooo Cute!!! Maybe that’s how they find out about Sarah’s Siren abilities?

Depends on if Alastor does shows that aren't just live audio of overlords being murdered. If he does, then I can see Vox offering to lend him a hand with it and Alastor, in return, telling him he can bring his kids along. From there, yeah, it'd be absolutely adorable if Alastor put Sarah on a stool to reach the mic and sang a song with her ("Never Fully Dressed" wasn't written until 1976 but shhhh).

Would Vox ever give the details of his and Alastor’s falling out? (Though I think Sarah & Thomas would eventually connect the dots.) It would be funny if Alastor was still super nice to the kids even though he and Vox are rivals.

No, I don't think Vox would ever elaborate. Explaining it to the kids would require him to reflect on why it went wrong to begin with, so he just... never does. Alastor remains respectful and friendly if he ever runs into the kids again, but those occasions would be few and VERY far between, given how possessive/protective Vox is of them.

Vox being a good dad to his kids is so sweet!! Nothing brings people together like shared misery!! I can see a cute bonding moment where Vox teaches Sarah how to tap dance (since his leg is fine now).

Oh, no, Vox is never teaching either of his kids how to dance. Singing, piano, stage presence, maybe, but never tap dance.

—

Ondine & Fineas where they die as kids: How does child Sarah and Thomas react to: 4-Your Dad scooping you up and locking you into a fish tank for decades. 5-Valentino

It's... weird when Valentino enters Vox's life. They hit it off immediately, and as time goes on, Vox wants to incorporate Val into more aspects of his life. The kids throw a spanner in the works, though. Messing with children is the one line Valentino won't cross, but he's still not exactly the type of person you want around your kids. Vox can only listen to his better angels for so long, though. The two of them make a deal where Val agrees never to do anything to harm Vox's kids in exchange for [something], and Vox introduces them (he's lowkey planning on moving in with Val eventually, so they might as well get it out of the way instead of springing it on them).

Val's charming and fun when he first meets Fineas and Ondine, but it doesn't take long for them to realize that he's not a good guy. Those misgivings solidify once the tower is built and they all move in together. Vox works hard to keep his kids as sheltered as possible, but it's hard to keep certain things on the down low once you're all living together. It's a lot to come to terms with– realizing that not only is your dad in a relationship with another man, but said man is a violent, sexually exploitative monster who's constantly breaking up and then getting back together with him. Val's generally decent with the kids, but he's still this uncomfortable, looming presence in their afterlives. They wish Vox could've just stayed friends with Alastor instead; he was kinda scary, too, but they'd definitely prefer him as a "step-dad" over Valentino.

Would they stay mentally children or be mentally adults in children’s bodies? I honestly don’t know which is worse. (I do think the former’s more interesting though.)

Sort of an in between. They're eternally stuck as children maturity-wise, but they have decades of new experiences continuously being layered over that stunted baseline. Sinner children generally come across as kind of unsettling in a vague, undefinable way. They're clearly still kids, but there's something about them that's just... off.

What do they think of Vark? The metal image of child Sarah and Thomas riding Vark like a horse will not leave me.

Ondine loves Vark (and all of Vox's other sharks). Fineas is scared of him but tries to act tough about it. This is why Ondine is the favorite /j

If Sarah still discovers her Siren powers would Vox still try to find a way to capitalize it?  Now I’m thinking of Vox forcing Thomas, Velvette, Valentino, and maybe his employees to watch Sarah sing and to clap every time. 

Depends on how skittish Vox is about putting his kids in the public eye in this scenario. He wants his family to become sinner aristocracy, but literally broadcasting your weak point to all your rivals isn't exactly a good idea. If he decides to throw caution to the winds (and can compartmentalize his own childhood trauma), I can see him putting them in his shows. Sinner children are fairly rare, so if a piece of media needs kid characters, their only options are Hellborn kids or sinners who look like children for one reason or another. If Vox decides to keep them cloistered, then yeah, mandatory "watch the CEO's daughter sing" meeting at 3:00. Everyone's docile and spaced out afterwards, but that's a bonus! (at least, Vox says it is)

I can see a scenario where Valentino is screaming at the kids and Vox attacking Val to protect his kids, or in general calling out Val & Vel anytime he sees them treat his kids poorly.

Val and Vel know better than to do anything to threaten Vox's kids, although, yeah, there are probably some times when they snap at them and then get into arguments with Vox. Not a good time for Ondine, give how conflict adverse she is. Hearing her dad raise his voice at all always evokes a fear response in her. Bad memories.

How often would Sarah and Thomas be allowed to be kids? To be silly and goofy and have fun? (I’m assuming not often.)

They're not really able to do anything but be kids once Vox has the means for them to live comfortably. They're never going to grow up, both physically and mentally, and Vox doesn't really push them to act like adults. It's not quite a "Claudia from IWTV" situation, since any frustration would stem from being stuck doing the same thing for decades rather than not being able to age, but there's elements of that.

How much would Vox try to hide the more inappropriate stuff from his kids? How long until you think he gives up?

Vox tried to keep them pretty thoroughly sheltered during the first decade or two, but yeah, eventually he resigns himself to the fact that this is just how Hell is. He doesn't let Val flaunt his sex stuff in front of them, but if someone swears in their presence, he's not going to reprimand them (unless they're an employee and he's feeling petty).

Do you think Vox would import cartoons, books, and toys from Earth for them?

He can't import physical objects from Earth, but he can replicate them as best he can based on the Earthly broadcasts and descriptions from newly arrived sinners. There's probably at least one VoxTek employee locked up in a sweatshop somewhere who's stuck building toys for their contract-holder's children.

Would Vox bother with giving them a proper education?

To the best of his ability. Vox was actually "homeschooled" back when he was touring with his parents, although in reality, his education was put on the back burner, and once he finally started attending real school at age ten, he was reading at about a first grade level. During that first decade in Hell, he'd try to teach Sarah and Thomas things here and there, but he didn't really have the time to commit to it. Thomas ended up teaching Sarah a lot of stuff during those days stuck in the apartment, but given how he died at age 11, they only got so far. Once Vox hit it big though, yeah, he was definitely hiring tutors to finish their education. In 2024, Ondine and Fineas are better educated than most adults, despite being eternally stuck at ages 8 and 11. Sort of adds to their uncanny vibes, despite how cute they appear.

Once Vox becomes an Overlord do you think he buys/customizes a robofizz to act as the kids nanny/bodyguard? What would the kids name them?

Oh yeah, totally. The kids have non-synthetic tutors/nannies/bodyguards, but it gives Vox some peace of mind to have one who he knows he can "trust"/control completely. The kids might name it "Sparky," after their dog, but "Claudia" would also be fun, just for the reference. 

...or fucking renesmee. ondine would be behind that.

Possible reasons Sarah & Thomas are in Hell: 1-They’re mother (& father) told them to keep silent to certain illegal things she(/he) does, so they’re technically accomplices. 2-Partially responsible for the death of someone, which could count as manslaughter. 3-Accidentally ate human flesh, cannibalism. 4-Killed a puppy by accident, puppy killing’s pretty evil.

Sdfghgfdfg. I can see Thomas accidentally shooting an animal with a BB gun (or doing it on a dare from his friends). Right now, I'm leaning towards Hell working on The Good Place rules, where your destiny depends on the net impact you had on the world. Poor Tommy and Sarah got sent to Hell just for being rich, privileged, White children from the 1950s with bad parents.

Man, Exterminations must have been terrifying. I can imagine them huddled in the corner together, hearing the screams of Sinners and hoping they aren’t next. Does Vox try to explain the Exterminations to them? How would Sarah & Thomas react to finding out Angels come down to murder everyone each year? Such a contrast to what they were taught Angels were like.

Definitely. It was so much worse back before Vox had the resources to build an Extermination bunker. Vox can go incorporeal, but the kids can't, so he had to find hiding places for the three of them that weren't already taken up by other sinners. Thomas and Sarah probably watched their dad get at least one person permakilled by hypnotizing them into giving up their spot and walking out into the onslaught. Once Vox becomes an overlord, it's less stressful, but it never stops being scary. Sarah especially struggled with the idea that angels can be cruel; the Oxrights were your typical church-going 1950s family, and Sarah used to draw a lot of comfort from religion, particularly after Vox died.

—

Now I need an in depth view on Sarah’s newly broken view on Angels. If she had a chance to talk to an Angel, what would she say to them? I want to see Sarah interact with all the Angels in the now (Sera, Emily, Lucifer, Vaggie, Lute, Adam, etc.). I need to lock Ondine & Sera in a room together so Ondine can ask Sera how she can slaughter thousands yearly? What would Sera’s reaction be? How would Sarah react to Adam, the first man, is the leader of the Exorcists and is all around a terrible piece of garbage? How would Sarah react to realizing Lucifer, The Devil, is actually kinda nice (or at least a more pleasant person to be around than Adam)?

By the time Ondine and Fineas would have an opportunity to meet most of those characters, they've been in Hell for 65 years, so the idea that demons can be kind and angels can be cruel has had plenty of time to settle. Sera probably wouldn't handle having a sinner child questioning her morals very well. She'd most likely react in a similar way as she did when Emily discovered the truth, insisting that she was only doing what she had to. The fact that Sera and Sarah have nearly the same name is making things even more uncomfortable.

For some reason child Sarah and Thomas meeting Lucifer sound hilarious, how do you think that would go down? Would they even believe he’s The Devil? It would be extra funny if Lucifer’s great with kids and they get along swimmingly. “He's pissed at God/Lucifer/whoever for letting this happen. What could children have possibly done to deserve Hell?” When Lucifer visits the Hotel would Vox scream at him why his 9 & 12 year old kids were sent to Hell? (If he recognizes him as Lucifer) How would Lucifer react? (Or would Vox do that to Charlie when he realizes she’s The Princess of Hell? Charlie would probably be in tears afterwards)

If Lucifer and Charlie were ever confronted with the "Why are children able to be sent to Hell?" question, they wouldn't take it well. Lucifer tries to defer responsibility, saying that it's not within his control: he doesn't decide who does and doesn't get into Hell... but it is still his kingdom, and he's chosen to stick his head in the sand instead of doing anything to help his most vulnerable "subjects." Charlie, yeah, she'd be devastated realizing kids can be sent to Hell for no clear reason and no one has tried to do anything about it.

–

Mental image that refuses to leave me: Vox walking in on Fineas about to shoot an apple off his terrified assistant’s head as Ondine watches apprehensively. He takes the bow and arrow from Fineas, scolding him… and then hands him a crossbow instead. Way more fun that way.

–

The kids are kind of afraid of Valentino, but they think Velvette is the coolest person in Hell. Ondine likes to follow her around like a shadow whenever she's working on her fashion lines, and Fineas maybe sorta kinda has a tiny little crush on her. Velvette hates children, but she can't tell them to fuck off unless she wants to get into an unnecessary fight with Vox, so she has to tolerate them when they try to interact with her.

–

How much has Sarah and Thomas' morals decayed? How much empathy can they show to a regular Sinner? Do they still see regular Sinners as people and not toys or pets?

It's weird. Vox has been encouraging them to dehumanize those under contract with him+the other Vees for decades; they signed up to work for them, so of course the kids should be allowed to do whatever they want to them. Since they died so young, Fineas and Ondine's morals are malleable, plus they both want their dad's approval, so they just... do as he says.

Ondine doesn't enjoy hurting people, but she can still be a bit of a handful in this verse. If she wants to play dress up with random tower employees that day, well, they have no choice but to drop everything and be her dolls until she moves onto something else. She'll also occasionally use her siren powers to make people do silly things (Vox loves it when she does this; he's been teaching her to hone her hypnotic abilities for years and is always so proud when she manages to successfully bend someone to her will). It comes from a place of genuine playfulness rather than malice, but that's cold comfort to the people she's messing with.

Fineas has much lower empathy than his sister and is far less squeamish. If he wants to play a game that could end in someone getting seriously injured, he does it; if he's in the room when one of the Vees is mauling an employee, it doesn't faze him. The fact that these are people, not toys, doesn't really register to him because, well, his dad said it was okay for him to do this, so what's the big deal?

If Charlie could get them away from Vox, she could probably teach them that just because you can treat people like rag dolls doesn't mean that you should, and that a person's feelings aren't automatically less important just because they sold their soul. They're not bad kids at heart; they're just children who've been taught to be careless with people because their dad gets a kick out of it.

"The kids are kind of afraid of Valentino, but they both think that Velvette is the coolest person in Hell." This is so cute!! Does Sarah get into fashion design?

As much as she can. She's only 8, so she doesn't really have the attention span/ability to fully commit to it, but she thinks it's fun. Velvette might actually end up spending some time with her because Ondine came up to her with a notebook full of drawings and Vel decides that picking apart this third grader's doodles was a good use of her time. She's not nice about it, but eventually it turns into more of a genuine critique than simple roasting since Ondine won't leave until she's looked at all of them.

–

When video games arrive in Hell, Fineas— as you would expect from an eleven-year-old boy— is enamored. If you play online games in Hell, there’s probably been at least one time when you’ve heard a pre-pubescent boy’s voice in VC, spouting the most obscene series of curse words you’ve ever heard in both English and Spanish. He has all the rarest gear in the game and will threaten to have his dad send snipers to your location if you grief him.

-

After a few decades, Vox starts lying to his kids that he somehow checked with Heaven and knows for a fact that's where their mother is. It's easier to let them think that than have them start asking about them finding her in Hell, and it gives him an easy cover story if he ever manages to find her and follow through on his plans to permakill her.

-

Vox uses his status as a “family man” to further bolster his public image. It’s a narrow tightrope to walk, trying to project humanity to the customer base and invulnerability to his colleagues/enemies, but if you ask him, he’d say he does it well. It helps that it’s not entirely a lie: Vox is a vicious, cutthroat overlord, but he also has two small children who he’s ironically much closer with in Hell than he was on Earth.

-

Imagining Vox teaching Ondine how to hypnotize people is just the cutest thing to me. He's trying to explain these abstract mental concepts to an eight-year-old. She doesn't fully understand that what they're doing is wrong; she just likes spending time with her dad. Vox is literally glowing with pride whenever she manages to do it right. They might sing together since that's how Ondine's powers work. Adorable evil daddy-daughter bonding is killing me.

[patron-saints]

the official beginner's guide to olizumi

so! you're a fan of fma or maybe a friend of mine, and you're interested in learning more about the relationship between olivier mira armstrong and izumi curtis! great, you've come to exactly the right place.

if it's been a while since you've seen fma:b, or if you've never seen it and don't mind watching some scenes from the final arc, i recommend getting started with my compilation:

(original video post here)

when i first watched fma:b back in march 2023, i thought i would manage to watch the entire thing without getting obsessed with a wlw ship. i was wrong. the second these two started interacting i immediately became enamored with the trust, respect, and intimacy that they share, and with the way they seemed to find in each other the same steely spirit, grit, and inner sense of self. their ability to communicate their philosophies, despite their differences, and listen to each other with ease and tenderness just. GOT ME. they got me.

get ready for SO MUCH MORE under the cut:

(i was lucky enough to have a chance to draw up a little list of most of my headcanons about them, which can be found here! the most important of which i'd say are that i write them as t4t, and olivier as a stone top!)

if you're convinced of their chemistry just from that, great, my job here is done! but if you don't believe me yet, or you want a little more, it would be my honor to point you in the direction of the first ever fic i wrote for them, "recognition." (tumblr post for chapter 1 here!)

"recognition" can best be described as a 4 chapter old woman yaoi where (almost) nothing happens and two milves fall in love. or if you like, sorry izumi, two very young women navigate the beginnings of a long distance relationship, polyamory, workaholism, and chronic illness. it is sickeningly fluffy, and to date the longest thing i've ever published.

it even comes with an illustration! @wlwsakura did THIS for me:

(original post here) which i will never be over not in one million years!

AND it also comes with a whole entire soundtrack, made by myself and my dearest friend @summerwoodsmoke! kinda a folksy gentle, very sappy vibe. i still listen to it all the time! alex picked some bangers tbh.

for the very first @fma-rareships event, i wrote two little ficlets set in the world of "recognition," which are here and here!

if you're keeping track so far, that's a compilation, a headcanon list, a fic(+ficlets), a commission, and a playlist. but wait, there's more!

so, okay, maybe 23k is too long for you. or maybe fluff isn't your thing. or maybe, somehow, you've made it through all that and you want more. not to worry. i have more.

just this week, i posted "bone deep" (tumblr post here), which is a 5k E rated omegaverse fic that's kind of like recognition on fastforward and if i didn't cut out the sex scenes. and if it was omegaverse. it's the first omega thing i've ever written, but i really wanted a chance to write more in depth about how i see olivier's stone identity, and weirdly this setting gave me the chance to do that!

and now we've covered everything i've made for them...so far. but i want to give a shout out to some others in the rarepairs mines with me, because i'm not the only one who care them!

@machinerismsx's fic "An Open Invitation" is genuinely incredible. it's hilariously funny (there's lines in there i still think about and giggle), and also like. super hot. we didn't know anything about each other's fic projects til after i posted "recognition," but we were stunned to realize we'd written a lot of the exact same plot points, including what i refer to as The Curtis-Armstrong Alliance.

you may have noticed that in my compilation, sig and alex also had like, off the charts chemistry. m and i noticed that too! so in both of our fics, while sig and izumi are still married, they are also each get an armstrong all to themselves, lol.

which brings me to @eggos-esper! my brother-in-arms who is out here as the reigning champ of sigalex! (& you can read the sigalex fic i wrote for him on ao3 here ((or see the tumblr post here!)))

but maybe you're nostalgic for youth. or you like epistolary fics. or maybe you, like me, are deeply obsessed with the miniep "tale of the teacher." if that's you, PLEASE PLEASE check out @baudleaires's fic "Notes from Briggs" it is the cutest thing on planet earth and it had me kicking and squealing the entire time.

maybe you want more art! there's more art!

@iztopher did this one for my birthday and it made me actually scream and then weep:

and @wlwsakura's first piece of them is what made me commission her in the first place:

it's still the photo for one of the groupchats i'm in. it rules.

also, while they're not on tumblr atm, i could not bear to make this list without acknowledging @chillingoose, who is one of my dearest friends and who has come up with some truly stunning things for olizumi as well.

and! and! also @littlebear1537! who loves briggs more than anyone else in the universe!

if i managed to miss anything, my olizumi tag is here! there's not a ton in it at the moment, but there are some jokes, like this one by @heavenlyshadowhunter:

:D

i would LOVE to add more to that tag by any means possible, so if you make anything for olizumi, PLEASE tag me in it! i am also going to work on setting up @olizumi as more of a proper archive too! (edit: i did it! it’s a real blog now!)

thank you so much for reading this incredibly long post, and for giving my girls a chance! <3!

[innxrvision]

So long - pt. 2 𒂭

part 2 of 3 ------------ 𖦹 tags: james hetfield x reader, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers, bet, 80s james, a little angst if you squint ♱ a/n: here's part 2 just like i promised! Also... this got too long again and I had to split once more, I'm sorry. Next part will be the last hopefully! I'll probably only be able to post it on wednesday or thursday tho, but we'll see how things go! Thanks to everyone that has been reading and liking my story, it truly made me happy!

𖦹 part 1 𖦹 part 2 𖦹 part 3

Both of you entered the bar already chatting excitedly, just as you imagined, whatever disagreement that came between you two couldn't last long. You and James' friendship went way back.

"Let's get you a drink." James' playful smile made you smile involuntarily back.

He ordered two beers and raised his glass after you two settled down on a table near the wall, on a spot where the soft yellow light shined right on James' blonde locks.

"To making up!" He said, the smile never leaving his lips.

"If you say so." You shrugged, raising your glass too, but there wasn't any hint of resentment in your voice.

"I really am sorry about what I've said to you earlier. I never wanted to hurt you." He repeated his apology sincerely.

You shrugged again in response, not wanting to make a big deal out of it again.

"What has gotten into you anyway?" You asked genuinely curious before taking a sip.

"I don't really know." He admitted and you could sense some embarrassment coming from him. "I guess my emotions were all over the place and I took all on you. I truly hope you can forgive me."

You just nodded in response, you could easily understand his side.

Soon one beer became two, then three… and before you could realize it, both were a bit too drunk, laughing obnoxiously loud at each other's stupid jokes.

At a certain moment, while James were rambling about his new guitar, your mind wandered as you studied his features under the soft light. The unruly blond hair now gained a different shine, the blue eyes seemed more vivid, and the skin covered by acne suddenly got a different charm to it.

You've known him for years, but, for some reason, the realization that he had grown into a man only hit you now. It's not like you haven't noticed his changes at all, you could admit the boy you knew had gained the charms of a man a long time ago, however, something at that bar made it all become more evident. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking. Regardless, you just stayed silent, lost in your thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" James' voice cut through your mind, his eyebrow quirked in confusion. "You're looking at me like I have two heads or something." He added, a chuckle coming out of his lips.

You snapped out of it as soon as you heard him, your cheeks heating up in response to his question.

"What?" You laughed nervously "Sorry, just got lost in my thoughts for a moment, go on."

James grinned, finding your flustered expression too amusing to let it go.

"I must really put you in a state to make you blush like that." He took another sip of his beer and kept grinning at you. "What were you thinking about before? I'm curious now."

You tried your best to appear bored and rested your elbow on the table, putting your chin on top of your hand.

"Nothing. Just… Work."

He studied your face and the playful expression he had before turned into a smirk.

"You're hiding something." He teased. "You're a terrible liar."

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be offended by his observation.

"I'm not!" You shot back. "I said it's nothing. You're too curious for your own good."

"Come on, tell me." He nudged your shoulder. "It's not fair if you keep it a secret."

"Not fair? What? Don't you have any secrets?" You scoffed.

"Of course I do. But your secrets are much more interesting to me right now than my own." He leaned closer and raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So spill it. What were you really thinking about? Was it a boy?"

You looked at him incredulous, just wishing he would drop the subject.

"You can't be serious." You looked with concern in your expression at him and he laughed in response.

"Oh, I'm being serious. You were blushing so hard, so it must be a boy." He grinned, crossing his arms. It was clear that he was enjoying messing up with you. "So come on, spill it. Is it someone I know? Do you want me to hook you up?"

"No! What? You're crazy." You couldn't believe he thought you wanted him to hook you up with somebody.

"I know you're thinking about someone, just tell me already. Who's the lucky guy?" He pressed again.

"There's... No one!" You were starting to get frustrated.

"Oh, please. You can't fool me, I know you. You were obviously daydreaming about someone." He raised an eyebrow again and you had to take a deep breath in order to control yourself. "Is it one of the guys? Lars maybe? Or... Is it Kirk? I know you two are very close. You got a thing for him?" His voice dripped with amusement, it was clear he was enjoying teasing you.

"What?!" You opened your mouth in shock as he started pointing names. "I've never...! I never liked Kirk! Where did this come from?!"

"I can see the way you look at him sometimes." He chuckled, it seemed like he was testing you. "If it's not him, then who is it? I won't leave you alone until you tell me."

"Kirk is like a brother to me!" You said offended, your cheeks getting hot once again.

"You're protesting a little too much. I know you're hiding something from me." He studied your blushed face in silence for a second "Well, whoever he is, we can play matchmaker and set you up on a date." He batted his eyelashes dramatically at you and laughed.

"Why are you so invested in being my wingman? Who says I need one?"

You were getting tired of this talk. One second of distraction staring too much at him and now you had to deal with James playing guess by himself. He already loved getting on your nerves, but whenever he got drunk that would get worse.

"You've been single for almost a year now." He grinned. "I just want to help you find someone to share your life with."

You couldn't believe he decided to throw that on your face. Ouch. You sighed and looked around the bar for a second, trying to find a good response.

"Why don't you worry about your own love life?"

He chuckled again, shrugging off your comment.

"You know I don't do long-term relationships." He said casually. "I'm more of a one-night-stand kind of guy." He winked and that irritated you.

You looked down at your hands, trying to navigate your feelings. For some reason, hearing that he had been sleeping with other girls made you feel jealous. You tried your best to not seem affected, but James noticed the shift in your reaction.

"What's wrong with one-night stands?" He asked, his tone playful.

"I just think it's gross." You cursed yourself mentally for your childish response.

"C'mon... You're such a prude." He rolled his eyes and teased you, nudging at your arm. "One-night stands aren't gross, they're just casual fun. You should try it sometime, it might loosen you up a bit." There was that smug grin again that made you heated.

"I don't need to loosen up, I'm fine the way I am." You tried defending yourself. "And also, I'm not a prude."

"Sure, keep telling yourself this." He shrugged, that grin only growing wider at your frustration. "But deep down, you're just a boring goody-two-shoes who wouldn't know how to have a good time if your life depended on it." He continued. "Bet you've never even been on a proper date before."

You scoffed. Yeah, he made a habit of teasing you and yes, that would worsen whenever he drunk, but tonight he seemed even more invested in driving you nuts. "Is it just the alcohol?" You asked yourself.

"Of course I have!" You crossed your arms. "I can have fun just fine. I just think the girls you hook up with are gross."

You tried attacking him, but it was clear that your response only amused him even more.

"Gross, huh? Interesting choice of words." He leaned closer once again. "Does that mean you think I'm gross too? For hooking up with random girls?" He waited for your response, staring at you.

"I've never said that." You regretted mentioning his hookups and sighed.

"I know you're judgmental of my dating life." He leaned back and shrugged. "You're probably just jealous that I'm getting some action and you're not." He smiled triumphantly.

"Who says I'm not getting some action?" You tried your best to sound convincing but your attempt only made him laugh.

"Oh, really? With whom exactly? A pillow? A stuffed animal?" You blushed and he caught your reaction. "I knew it. You don't have anyone. Which is why you're so sour and uptight because you're not getting laid." He taunted.

"You're such an ass." You looked away and rolled your eyes. "It's none of your business, maybe? Just leave my love life alone, please." At this point, you had given up winning this conversation.

"Alright, alright. I'll leave your non-existent love life alone." He raised both of his hands in surrender. "But if you need some advice on how to get laid, come to me. I'm something of an expert, y'know?" He winked playfully.

"Like I would take your advice." You laughed sarcastically, seeing the perfect chance to annoy him back. "Bet you don't how to please girls at all." You added, certain that this would drive him crazy.

In response, he just smiled and shook his head. A different reaction that you were expecting.

"Oh yeah? You think I can't satisfy a girl?" He said confidently and leaned closer to you once again. "In fact, I bet I could satisfy you better than any other guy you've ever been with."

You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you heard him right. "He's just trying to get a reaction of me." You thought to tranquilize yourself.

"No way. Bet you take like... One minute." You decided just to keep teasing, trying to give him hell back for being so annoying.

"You think I'm that bad?" He raised an eyebrow with a smile on his lips. He then went silent for a second and something in his expression changed. "How about we make a bet then? If I can't please you better than anyone you've ever been with before, I'll do the dishes at your house for a week. But... If I do a good job, you have to take me out on a date."

"What?" Your mind went blank with shock and you felt a wave of heat from the embarrassment go through your entire body. Everything was all fun and games until now, but now you were just dumbfounded.

James noticed the shock in your expression and bit his lip, realizing he may have overstepped, but it was too late to take back now.

"Just hear me out. It'll be fun, it's just a harmless bet." He said quickly. "We are friends, right? What's wrong with having some fun?" He tried.

You couldn't even look straight at him now. It's true that you've been getting more and more attracted to him, but since you were best friends, you never expected this kind of proposal to come from him. Was it the alcohol? Was he just trying to prove a point? Your thoughts ran a 100 mph, trying to decide what should you do.

"I..." You started, then shook your head in an attempt to clear your mind. "Fine, it's a bet."

[dreadpiratesilas]

I saw a recent post someone made speculating on birth years for each of the FO4 companions. They had estimated Danse being born (created?) in 2261 and part of that reasoning was 1) he had been paladin by 2277 and 2) Maxson said it took Danse “many” years to become paladin.

I wanted to expand on it without dumping a huge wall of text onto their post. If you want to know which post, here's the link. And this isn't me disagreeing with any of it. It was just something that got me thinking and I wanted to expand on it.

I've been kind of stuck on Danse's character for a bit because of the fic I'm writing. I didn't actually realize Maxson had said it took Danse many years to become Paladin (I looked it up and it's when you first join the BoS and you're given the rank of Knight. If you ask why not Paladin, that's when you get that info).

So anyway it made me wonder what “many” years would be in the context of a military career. The Brotherhood of Steel was born from the US military, so I looked into the ranks of the US Army to get an idea. Danse is a senior officer with the BoS and a field commander. From what I can tell, the most senior field commander in the Army is the rank of Major. Just doing a quick Google search, it takes about 11 years to make that rank. Added to at least 10 years as Paladin, I'm estimating Danse has been in the BoS for about 21 years by the beginning of FO4.

If someone joins the Army at 18, they'd be about 39 by the time they reach Major. Since Danse is a synth and was created as an adult humanoid male, that doesn't mean much in terms of his actual chronological age. It does for his perceived age, though.

The BoS keeps really extensive records on its members. They even keep their DNA on file. When you walk through the Prydwen, you get a very paranoid vibe and the children on the ship are encouraged to spy on all staff aboard the Prydwen. And yet, no one suspected Danse was a synth.

Synths don't age. At SOME point, even if they never got the files from the Institute saying Danse was a missing synth, someone would have had to start questioning why Danse still looks the same after all of those years in the BoS. That hadn't happened, yet. Also the stress of battle and the scars on his face probably do give the illusion of “aging” to an extent. Danse also isn't close to anyone in the BoS and doesn't talk about himself. His background is as an anonymous orphan in the Capital Wasteland. All of this gives plenty of wiggle room on his perceived age to others. I'm guessing anyone in the BoS would probably just assume he's in his mid-late 30's. Maybe early 40's.

And up to that point, the timeline would match. His time spent in the BoS would point to him being that age. He looks like he's about that age. He's a senior officer. It's fine. Give it about 10 years, though, and people would have started asking questions. Danse was on borrowed time and he had no idea.

And then there's time spent in Rivet City. He and Cutler were quite close, enough that they joined up together. My guess is that they were probably seen as two young men at around the same age (I'll just say late teens, early 20's) when they joined up. Since we know Danse is an adult who doesn't age, I'm going to lean hard on the battle scars theory for simulating aging and also say he was probably clean shaven in the beginning which also made him look younger.

Even then, I am guessing he spent enough time with Cutler for them to become close without raising any suspicions on his age. I'm going to give about 2 years in Rivet City. I figure that's plenty of time for two young men to become friends enough that they run off and join the military together. Without the appearance of his age raising any red flags.

That puts the timeline up to 23 years.

Prior to that, it gets really fuzzy. We know nothing of his time in the Institute. We can make some educated guesses, but all we know for sure is that he was a missing synth named M7-97. Danse himself doesn't know anything about it. I can't really give any guess on how long he was there without going ENTIRELY into headcanon territory.

Him being born in the year 2261 is totally plausible. That would make him chronologically 26 years old.

His perceived age, though, I thought was interesting to think about because you have to see how his appearance and the direction his life took was almost out of luck that no one found him out sooner. I think he was in a far more precarious position than even he realized and even without the BoS discovering he was a synth from the Institute, he was getting close to a point in time where his age would have come into question even more and people would have started getting suspicious anyway.

[avispraeda]

So I'm gonna admit, I had a moment of weakness when I saw the "brothers" line because to each their own, enjoy what you want, but that's not really my cup of tea if you catch my drift. But I sat and thought it over and came out the other side with an even greater appreciation for TreyRid.

And I've just!! Gotta ramble. For all the people I see saying we were robbed.

Trey seeing Riddle as an incredibly smart little brother highlights the importance of their bond in that moment--and just in general really. It's different from just being close friends, it's not often you reach that level of connection and start seeing another person as not just friends, but family without a deep trust and enjoyment of each other, especially from someone who does have actual blood siblings he also really cares about. It's not romantic (right now) but he loves Riddle so much that a large portion of the changes in Trey's dream are literally about wanting him to be happy.

He knew this kid for all of 3-ish months before they were separated, and yet he held on to his memories of Riddle for so long that he went around excitedly talking about him to all his dorm mates! You have not seen hide nor hair of this dude for almost a decade how are you still this devoted to him (it's partially The Trauma oops). And then if that wasn't enough, he spent the entire previous year trying and failing to reforge some kind, ANY KIND of friendship from square 1 while effectively treading water with managing the dorm. He didn't volunteer for this! He could've easily decided nah, screw this, I wanna support him as a regular student instead of vice and either quit the job or, if drastic measures felt needed, peaced out to Octavinelle or some other dorm! But he stayed, and he tried to make it work!

And now post-blot they're getting there, they're both aware they missed each other and that the distance was from repressed feelings rather than a bond broken. They're goofing around again, facing off in games and eating lunch together as a casual thing and just enjoying each other's company. They're letting their feelings show more often (ex: Riddle admitting to feeling like a burden in the Savanaclaw novel after Trey gets hurt). According to Cater they're often together, likely even before Riddle's overblot. There's still so much work they need to do, they're both still deeply traumatized (again thank you Cater lol mvp) and need time to come to terms with what happened. But even though it's only been a few months since they've been back on friendly terms, Trey still admits he holds Riddle to this high familial regard. Trey overtly loves and cares about Riddle SO damn much, and that's canon! Like this might be the most blatant it's ever been stated from Trey's end! Unless I'm being a fool and forgetting! Which I might be!

And here's the thing, they're both still young! Not even out of school yet! And feelings change over time. Sometimes those familial feelings do grow into romantic ones, and sometimes they remain familial. It's a slowburn ship, where as they continue to gradually pick apart and wipe down and stitch up those traumas, those feelings can morph into romance as they watch the other grow and heal. And that's coming from someone who loves exploring a romantic dynamic while they're still in school together heeheehoohoo.

Maybe Trey gets feelings as Riddle pulls away from his mom and matures, heals physically and mentally, the need for coddling fades. Maybe he ends up realizing that the way his heart races when he sees Riddle smile is different from when Chenya smiles, has always been different, and he wasn't able to recognize it until he worked through some of that Mrs Roseheart trauma. Maybe he already knows there's romantic potential there but also knows neither of them are ready for that sort of thing yet. Maybe it ends up being a lifelong queer platonic partnership. There's so many possibilities for their bond it's making my head spin.

I could go into the details of how Chenya being housewarden instead is a change made as a means to an end regarding both his yearning for his friend there to help in the previous year and how denying Riddle the role lets him be free from the pressure and weight of expectations, rather than overt dissatisfaction with Riddle's as a leader (thank you Ortho for that little addition). Or how Trey realizing that Riddle---the QUEEN---always gets the first tart slice was what helped him wake up on his own. But I think I've made my point.

TreyRid wasn't robbed, it was gifted an amazing foundation to build off of, maybe a few steps away from Trey just outright saying he wants to lick whipped cream out of Riddle's mouth.

[skalfy]

A Poorly Planned Escape

Misa x Reader, ~2k words, part 1/?

hey so I wrote this and I thought why not post it. I've started writing the next part already, so I'll probably post that as well if there is any interest. It didn't start out as being about Misa, but I got partway in and thought "yeah that's definitely about Misa" so here we are. Don't be confused by María, it should become clear that it's misa, not one of the other marías lol. Also my spanish is limited to two semesters several years ago in college, so all dialogue is written in english, but in my mind they are speaking spanish.

I've written things before, but not like this and not posted, so apologies in advance for things like messed up formatting. Also not proofread, but such is life. Enjoy!

no smut, but some general descriptions of people hooking up

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting as shouldered your way into your flat, hands full of leftovers your mum had insisted you take back for Alma, your girlfriend. Probably her form on the sofa, tv bright with one of the Spanish reality shows she preferred. Maybe even a dark, quiet room if Alma was out with her friends, something she seemed increasingly inclined toward the last few months. You certainly weren’t prepared for the sight that did greet you.

Your girlfriend was draped rather artfully across the plush sofa, head thrown back and eyes shut, a position not unfamiliar to you. In fact, the only thing really unfamiliar at all was the stranger who knelt between your girlfriend’s legs. Her smooth, broad shoulders and bowed head obscured the rather intimate details of what was taking place, but between the sounds and the way Alma’s fingers were gripping the stranger’s dark hair, it wasn’t hard to guess. You were frozen in the doorway, watching the ripple of muscle under tan skin as she slid her palms up to your girlfriend’s hips to hold her down, pressing her firmly into the couch. You wondered for a moment what hands that big might feel like against your own hips, shaking your head suddenly when you realized the absurdity of that thought.

After a deep breath to compose yourself, you kicked your heel firmly back into the door, slamming it shut behind you. Both bodies stilled, but it only took a moment before Alma’s head snapped up and her eyes met yours. You turned away, willing your shoulders to stay down and relaxed as you walked to the refrigerator.

“Sorry to interrupt, but my parents say hello. I’m putting the leftovers from dinner in the fridge, please have some. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.” You said, back still turned and only a slight waver in your voice. “I think I’ll head out and stay with one of the girls tonight, just need to grab a few things.” Alma didn’t reply.

As you walked into your shared bedroom, you heard a soft voice ask “your roommate?” Alma didn’t reply to that either.

--

When you emerged a few minutes later, overnight bag over your shoulder, only Alma sat on the sofa. She had clothes on now, shorts she must have been wearing before and a hoodie of yours that had been across the back of one of the sitting room chairs. You resisted the urge to snap at her to take it off.

“I just don’t understand, Alma. I know things haven’t been great, but why didn’t you just say something?” Even as you spoke you knew it didn’t really matter. There was no going back from this and you didn’t need your feelings hurt by whatever reasons she gave. You sighed and turned toward the door again. “I’ll call you to sort things out once I’ve calmed down.”

You thought she wouldn’t say anything at all, but as your hand grasped the doorknob, she finally spoke, “Are we done?”

“Yeah, Alma, I think we are.” You pulled the door open and left.

--

When the elevator doors opened at the ground floor of your building, you were surprised to see a familiar figure. She was fully clothed now, but the broad shoulders and thick, wavy hair were unmistakable to you. She half turned as you stepped into the lobby, dark eyes meeting yours. You expected her to look away, but instead she held the eye contact. She was striking--beautiful, but intimidating, all heavy eyebrows and unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry.” She said, still not looking away.

“Did you know she had a girlfriend?” You asked.

“No.” She shook her head.

“Then it wasn’t your fault.” You gave a half smile. “I thought you might be trying to escape my wrath, but it looks like you didn’t get far.”

At this she finally looked away, shrugging a little uncomfortably as she answered, “My phone is dead, and I-- well, I’m still figuring the escape out.”

“I can give you a ride home.” You spoke without thinking, regretting it when the silence stretched afterwards. “I’m leaving anyway, and I promise I won’t try to kill you or anything.”

“If you’re sure, I’d really appreciate it.” She said, a smile breaking across her face, “I wouldn’t blame you if you tried to kill me just a little bit, though.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at her face. The bright smile had turned it from intimidating to adorable, and you were having a difficult time collecting your thoughts with those particularly lethal dimples shining at you. You flashed her a soft smile of your own and gestured to the door.

“Come on then, follow me.”

--

Once the two of you were seated in your car, you plugged her address into the nav, then scrounged up a charging cable and passed that over to her. Fortunately, her home was near the friend you intended to crash with, so your extra passenger hardly took you out of your way at all. You sent a quick text to your friend letting her know you’d be at her place in around 30 minutes, then put your phone down and backed out of your spot.

The first couple minutes on the road were quiet, just the muffled sound from the city around you mixed with the playlist you’d started and turned down to play quietly. As you sat at a traffic light, you turned for a moment to the woman sitting next to you.

“You know, we haven’t actually introduced ourselves.” You told her your name, then held out your hand for a handshake with mock seriousness. She grasped your hand firmly, mirroring your serious expression and replied,

“I’m María, it’s nice to meet you.”

That opened up the conversation, and the two of you began to chat. It was mostly surface level, but you found yourself actually enjoying it. María was witty and interesting, but most of all she seemed to truly want to listen what you had to say. She was impressed when you described how you had moved to Madrid from London for work right out of uni, explaining that she had at times considered leaving Spain for her own job, but had worried about unfamiliar places and languages. She understood what it was like to live a plane ride away from family, with her parents back in Tenerife. You were happy to ply her with questions about her beautiful homeland, mentally planning a trip there after hearing about the gorgeous beaches and scenery. It wasn’t until María asked her next question that you realized there was a new predicament you were in.

“I think you mentioned dinner with your parents, are they visiting?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “they are here for a week, along with my sister and her husband and their daughter. They aren’t really here to visit me, but it’s a nice bonus. I’m actually taking my niece to-- oh fuck!” You cut yourself off with the exclamation.

“What, what’s wrong?” María asked, startled.

“I was supposed to take my niece to a football game this weekend, she is a huge Real Madrid fan, loves women’s footy. Except I’m now realizing this is a mess, because the only way I could get tickets was a favor from Alma. Her company has a box, and I begged her to get two seats for Luisa and I, but now even if she still lets me use them there’s no way we can sit with all my ex-girlfriend’s coworkers. If I know her at all then at least half of them will have heard all about this by lunch tomorrow, and I don’t think I want my eleven year old niece there to find out how much of the truth she tells.” Your eyes suddenly stung as you tried to take a deep breath. “Sorry, I just realized I’m not sure I can take getting cheated on and being a shitty aunt all in one week.”

“Please don’t apologise for being upset, clearly the only person in this car who should be allowed to say sorry is me.” You managed a sniffle and a small smile at her words. “Also, I definitely can’t fix the first part,” this caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle a surprised snort, “but I think I can help with the second.”

“María it’s okay, you don’t owe me anything. Plus the game has been sold out for weeks, it’s El Clásico, I already tried to buy tickets before I asked Alma in the first place.” You could feel your voice wavering and fought against the tears. María was quiet in the seat next to you as you pulled up outside her building. You shifted into first and turned the car off, then felt a hesitant hand cover yours on the gearstick.

“I can get you two tickets if you want them, I promise. I work for Real Madrid and there are tickets set aside for us.” She sounded almost desperate.

“I can’t ask you to do that--” you started, then she cut you off.

“I wouldn’t have used them anyway! Please let me do this.” You looked at the big hand on yours, then up at her face. “Not for you, but for an eleven year old girl who loves women’s football.” She had you there and she knew it.

“Yes. Yes, fine!” You smiled at her. “Thank you, María.”

She smiled back at you, then lifted her hand from yours, reaching it up to thumb away the rebellious tear that had made it onto your cheek. You acted on instinct and reached both of your arms out to her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward hug across the car’s center console. She didn’t seem to mind the uncoordinated attempt, accepting it with grace and tucking your head neatly into her shoulder. As she held you there, the most ridiculous thought of the night crossed your mind. Why had Alma cheated on you with María? She wasn’t Alma’s type at all, she was yours.

The two of you separated after another moment, and María pulled her phone out.

“Can you text yourself so I have your number? That way I can let you know where to go to pick the tickets up.” You nodded and did as instructed, sending yourself her name, then replying with yours so neither of you would have any trouble identifying the new number.

“Please let me know if I owe you anything. I know you said the tickets are set aside, but if they cost you then please let me at least cover that.” You got the sense that she would be the type to not mention that if it were the case.

“They normally don’t charge me anything, but I promise I’ll tell you if they do.” She met your eyes and winked-- whether that meant she was trying to reassure you or just that she wasn’t going to make you pay either way you weren’t sure, but you let it go. “One more thing, does Luisa have a favorite player? No guarantees, but I might be able to leave something for her with the ticket agent. The players are usually happy to do something like that.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.” You leveled her with a glare. “She’s always on about Hayley Raso and Linda Caicedo, so either of them’s probably a safe bet.”

“Only if it’s no trouble.” She agreed, with what she must have thought was an innocent expression on her face.

“Please get out of my car before you offer to do anything else for Luisa that will leave me severely in your debt.” You pointed out toward her flat then made a shooing motion with your hand. She huffed out a chuckle then opened her door.

“Thank you for the ride… and for not killing me when you had the chance. Look out for my text!”

With that she hopped out and shut the car door. You watched as she walked up to the building entrance, turned and waved, then stepped inside. After a deep breath, you turned your car back on and drove the last few minutes to your friend’s house.

[1dmonthlyficroundup]

— 1D Monthly Fic Roundup —

Hi, and welcome to the 1D Monthly Fic Roundup for August 2024! Below you’ll find 1D fics that were all published this month. We hope you’ll check out these new fics! If you would like to submit your own fic, please check this post on how to submit or visit our blog @1dmonthlyficroundup​. You can find all our other posts here.

Happy reading!

＊ I've been here for days by @justanothershadeofblue [E, 18k, OT5]

Somewhere in the desert, a man is called by God to raise up a righteous generation, to bring forth the kingdom from his own seed and the wombs of his omegas.

He will do it by any means necessary.

A series in six parts. Part 1 of Keep Holding Me This Way

＊ i'm going out tonight by @disgruntledkittenface [M, 3k, Harry/Louis]

Louis hasn’t been appreciating his boyfriend Harry. He only realizes it when Harry takes matters into his own hands. Inspired by Bejeweled by Taylor Swift.

＊ And I'm Okay (with what i'm not) by red_panda28 / @red-pandaaa [T, 6k, Louis/Harry]

“So, speaking of steamy scenes.” The interviewer, Harry had already forgotten his name again, gestured with his mod cards between Harry and his co-star, Sam. “With all the intimacy going on on-set, was there ever a time that continued… off-camera?” He winked at the camera.

OR 3 times people make assumptions about Harry's sex life and the 1 time he snaps

＊ Gotta Feeling by @allwaswell16 [T, 2k, Harry/Louis]

When Harry's life in Manchester isn't turning out the way he thought it would, he decides to visit his best friend in Mexico City. Maybe Niall can convince him to move halfway around the world.

＊ HOT TO GO! by @allwaswell16 [T, 2k, Louis/Harry]

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right.

Or the accidental pervert fic

＊ Let the Feeling Last by @allwaswell16 [T, 5k, Harry/Louis]

Omega Harry thinks the alpha at the grocery store buying a cart full of vegetables must be an amazing chef. He doesn't know that Alpha Louis is feeding all those vegetables to his pet pig.

＊ Stars over Amsterdam by @hellolovers13 [T, 4k, Louis/Harry]

Louis remembers how stressed they were, trying to get tickets at all. The waiting for the email with the code, which only Louis got, the actual On-sale. How Harry stood behind him, peeling at his nails nervously. Trying not to distract Louis.

But it had all gone smoothly and he had gotten the tickets within just a few minutes.

Harry had jumped around Louis’s chair in excitement like a bouncing ball. Already starting to plan their outfits.

A gold fringe dress for Harry, Fearless was his favourite album, after all, and a matching shirt he had found online for Louis. So people could tell right away they were an item.

That was their plan. Before it all went to shit.

or Fate in form of Eras Tour tickets forces Louis to meet up with his Ex.

Hopefully soon to be Ex-Ex.

＊ Stronger Than the Tide by @haztobegood [G, 3k, Harry & Louis]

The time Louis had spent talking with Harry in the cave had flown by. He was still unsure where the time had gone. Maybe it was because this was the first real connection Louis had made in years. Love and sex did not interest Louis, and it became harder to find good friends.

It was different with Harry. Their conversation flowed effortlessly without pressing for more. Despite the hours they spent together in the cave, Louis wanted to keep talking, to share more of himself, and to learn more about Harry. He hoped their paths would cross again soon.

＊ The Grundy County Drag Show Incident by @haztobegood [T, 3k, Zayn/Liam]

The instrumental opening of Beyoncé’s Halo filled the bar, and the crowd clapped in time to the beat. Holding a wireless mic in her gloved hand, Veronica Stardust owned the stage. She was one of the most vocally talented drag queens in the Midwest. Harry and Louis had seen this act a few times before and were always blown away at the power of her voice. Liam, however, was just experiencing it for the first time. He didn’t know what was yet to come. Part 2 of Grundy County Incidents

＊ Porcupine by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles [E, 82k, Louis/Harry]

Louis, a broke omega librarian, finds his quiet life in Vienna turned upside down when he meets a charming four-year-old boy named Venus, who insists that Louis is his "Mama." When Venus's father, Harry—a powerful and dangerous mafia leader—offers Louis a lucrative job as the boy's full-time nanny, Louis steps into a world where love and danger are deeply intertwined.

As Louis grows closer to Harry and Venus, he discovers the perilous secrets of Harry's underworld life. Their unexpected connection sparks a passionate romance, but with Harry's enemies closing in, Louis must navigate a treacherous path where his heart and life are at risk. This is a thrilling tale of love, danger, and the irresistible pull of two souls drawn together against all odds.

＊ Miracles At Sunsets by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles [T, 16k, Harry/Louis]

Harry and Louis are best friends bound by years of shared memories, but their relationship is complicated by a tangle of unspoken emotions. Harry, an Alpha, is deeply in love with Louis, an Omega, but fears revealing his true feelings might shatter the friendship they’ve built. When Harry decides it’s time to settle down and start a new chapter in his life, he turns to Louis, an interior designer, for help in finding the perfect home.

What begins as a light-hearted search for a house soon becomes a journey of self-discovery and emotional upheaval. As they explore potential homes, their bond is tested by the growing tension between what is said and what remains hidden. Can Harry find the courage to reveal his heart, or will their unspoken desires tear them apart?

＊ Symphony by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles [T, 4k, Louis/Harry]

In the peaceful countryside, Harry Styles is a hardworking farmer who’s all about keeping things running smoothly on his farm. But when a routine check on his crops leads to a nasty fall from his horse, Harry finds himself seriously injured. Determined not to worry his pregnant omega, Louis, he stubbornly drives himself to the hospital, knowing full well that Louis would be frantic if he found out.

Meanwhile, Louis gets a call that sends him into a panic—Harry’s in the hospital. Rushing to his side, Louis is a mix of anger and worry, not sure whether to scold Harry or hug him. As they reunite, the two navigate their emotions, and despite the scare, their bond only deepens, proving that together, they can handle anything life throws at them.

＊ Let Your Tears Fall (No I Won't Judge You) by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove [E, 7k, Harry/Louis]

“I want to feel good," Harry says. "I want you to feel good. I just… I don’t know what that looks like.”Louis nods. “That’s fair,” he says. “Always a bit of a learning curve, figuring out what you like and what you don’t.” He rubs his chin. “What if we just… talk through it? Instead of doing it?”Harry blinks. “What do you mean?” he says. “I don’t – I just don’t know what-”“I know,” Louis says. “It’s okay.” He brushes his hand down Harry’s cheek, soft and gentle. “I can start,” he says. “Tell you about what I imagine us doing together. And anytime you feel like something isn’t right – you can stop me, and we can figure out a different path.”Harry nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “I can try.”

Four times Harry cries during sex. And four times Louis is right there beside him, giving him all the comfort and support and validation he needs.

＊ Donatello by @jooles999 [M, 42k, Louis/Harry]

"GET OFF MY BUS!"

Louis neck bristled, he glared into the face of the man towering over him, his pupils black with unfiltered rage he opened his mouth ready to respond before hearing fast approaching footsteps from behind the curtain.

" Jeff, What's all the shouting about?"

Louis clamped his eyes shut gulping for air as a tightness gripped his chest.

No it can't be

Seconds felt like hours, he shivered as time stopped still. Louis opened up his now glistening eyes, he held his breath and bit tightly on his bottom lip trying to prepare himself for the moment he had so carefully avoided for 3 long years.

The curtain pulled back.

" Yes yes you have guessed right well done, it is indeed Harry Styles, you can close your gawping mouth now mate. Ill even be nice and give you a tour t-shirt, then you can get the hell off my fucking tour bus and back to...."

"L..Louis?"

Or One stormy night popstar Harry and accountant Louis are reunited after 3 long years apart. Harrys manager is dangerous and controlling can Louis save him before it's too late.

＊ I long for that feeling to not feel at all by @ineverateakiwi [NR, 2k, Harry/Louis]

When he is not around and Harry needs to feel more grounded, steady on his own feet, he thinks of Louis. It's probably not healthy to rely on someone this heavily, but it's better than nothing. It's what he has right now. And, right now, it's working. Is thinking about that feeling, the feeling of being real, being alive, that he whispers – without thinking – those two words. — "Hurt me."

Harry needs to feel something, even if it's pain. Louis gives what he needs.

- Fic Fests -

＊ 1D Aro/Ace Fic Fest / @1daroaceficfest [Masterpost]

A One Direction Fic Fest centred around all the identities on the aromantic and asexual spectrum

- Podfics -

＊ [Podfic] Write You A Song by by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings read by Panda_Podfics / @pandapodfics [G, Louis/Harry]

Harry’s new flat is great but the acoustics are even better. They’re so good in fact that his daily shower concerts start to entertain an audience besides his shampoo bottle.